The Last Engineer
by HoKaze
Summary: What starts as a normal skirmish between RED and BLU evolves into chaos as Dustbowl is destroyed and the RED Engineer finds himself cut off from his team, heavily wounded and desperate to survive as the Respawn system malfunctions...
1. Destruction of Dustbowl

**Author's notes:** I'll confess, this is the first piece of fanfiction I've written...uh, period. It's also the first bit of fiction I've done in quite a long time so I'm incredibly rusty to say the least and thus would appreciate any constructive feedback. First chapter here is pretty small, more of a taster or prologue chapter before the story really begins.  
>All will make sense eventually, if I get that far, I have a bad habit of not finishing stories...<br>_Edit_: Thanks go to GothicChesire, who's helped correct some mistakes with both chapters. Things should be a little clearer now. 

_**Chapter 1: Destruction of Dustbowl**_

The air held the stench of death and smouldering rubble as the RED Engineer stumbled, groaning in pain as his eyes fearfully darted about. He clutched his bleeding stump of an arm and winced as he got to his feet, trying to put too much weight on a leg that was currently...missing a few chunks, to put it bluntly.

One step. Two steps. He had to keep moving, had to find somewhere safe, to deal with whatever the hell had just happened. And then… Voices. As much as the Engineer was normally fairly well-mannered and laid back, he thought that for once, cursing was an apt response and so he did so under his breath as he hastened his movements. He could hear them, talking loudly and with mirth in their voices.

He clenched his teeth as he heard the BLU Spy's snorting laughter expand over the grounds of Dustbowl. That damn spook had to have been behind it all, hadn't he? Taking one last glance around, the RED Engineer ducked his way into an alcove and collapsed, fairly confident that he hadn't been seen and that with a little movement of some nearby rubble and intact barrels he could remain hidden.

What had been a routine skirmish between the two mercenary groups at this familiar location had turned into a nightmare of chaos, confusion and pain. He wasn't quite sure how it had come to this, the battlefield reduced to a wreck of its former self. The buildings that had once held control points and supplies were rubble at best and craters at worst. Walls had collapsed, fires raged over what little remained of wooden shacks and the terrain was red and black with blood and ashes.

Even the three respawn rooms owned by RED at each major section of the battlefield had crumbled. Normally BLU would seize the respawn systems to use as their own as they pushed RED back to the next stage but this time things had gone...differently.

With that understatement of the year out of the way, the Engineer frowned, ignoring the tell-tale dripping of his bleeding appendages as he tried to recall what had led to his current predicament. Last he could remember, he'd been defending the last control point on the final stage. He'd been maintaining his sentry, aiding his teammates with some pistol fire every so often and had even been able to get revenge on the Spy that had been harassing him as of late with a good wrench to the skull.

What had happened next? Ah, of course, BLU's Medic had built an Übercharge and his nest of buildings had been obliterated between the Übered Heavy and the Demoman's stickybombs. And so he'd respawned as usual, ready to dart in to aid his team in defending the point and pushing BLU back so he could setup his defenses again.

Or rather, that was what had passed through the Engineers mind as he respawned to see the respawn room suddenly fill with flame, dust and shrapnel as he found himself blasted backwards through the building's walls. He remembered feeling dizzy and slowly getting up, finding himself in the unfamiliar land behind the RED team building as the more familiar sound of the announcer declared his team's failure.

Pain suddenly had caught to him as he noticed the true extent of his injuries: his left arm was essentially missing, his right leg was riddled with shrapnel and with this in mind and no teammates in sight as Humiliation started, the Engineer had made his escape.

Drip. A splotch of red fell down on to his tattered overalls, barely visible amongst the red already present. He raised his right hand, noticing that he had lost his glove at some point during the madness and lifted it to his face, feeling the warm trickle of fresh blood seep from a gash in his cheek.

BLU...their eternal enemies had been sporting new weapons and had been doing some real damage this time around. Normally RED would be able to hold Dustbowl rather easily with their experience and eventually force BLU to admit defeat, but this time...The wounded mercenary and self-professed solver of practical problems shook his head. When BLU captured the last point on Stages one and two they had gone straight to the respawn rooms and not bothered hunting down the fleeing RED team members. What was truly unusual was that with the start of each new round, detonations would trigger, causing mass destruction to the previous stage of Dustbowl and distracting the RED team at first as they resisted the BLU charge.

The air became still and quiet once more, the BLUs heading away from the wreckage of the RED base. The Engineer couldn't have seen from here, but the BLU Spy did stop briefly, glancing at a discarded rubber glove before taking one last drag of his cigarette and tossing the still burning stick onto the rubble behind him. "Labourer..." The masked man murmured to himself before glancing at his inviswatch and returning to his cheering teammates as they returned to their base, ready for the next move.

The surviving RED sighed and lent back in his hiding place. He'd figured that the rest of his team either hadn't had the chance to respawn before the round had ended or had been chased down and killed by now. The actions of the BLU team, directly breaking contract by raining such destruction on a designated battlefield and sabotaging the RED base directly like this? Worrying, but it could be dealt with at the next location during their off time before the next mission. Respawn should trigger any moment now, returning the RED team to the nearest available respawn point, ready to regroup and board the train.

...The Engineer's eyesight was starting to get blurry and his body was suddenly riddled with coughs as he trembled in pain. Something was wrong. Even if Dustbowl's respawn systems had been destroyed, it should have detected the end of round and picked him up. And if it hadn't done so yet and he was now outside the usual fighting area...

If he died right now, would he die...permanently? Another coughing fit, his head buzzing as his vision swam, the Texan unable to form coherent thoughts regarding his current predicament. A mere malfunction, a glitch, permenant damage caused by BLU, intentional or not? He could not answer, lost in the darkening mist brought on by his blood loss.

As it subsided he bolted upright, his eyes blazing with fear beneath his goggles. Throughout this war respawn had always allowed them to take death as a mere inconvenience, a painful setback that cost time and little else. It'd been one of the few things that had allowed RED to convince him to sign the contract with them and turn his brilliant mind from constructive purposes to killing...in a constructive manner, of course.  
>With his current condition, death seemed to hover over him and without a Medic, any nearby medkits and in no condition to build a dispenser...things weren't looking so great right now. His remaining hand closed itself around his trusty wrench. Despite the chaos, he'd managed to keep hold of it throughout his trek here, only dropping it when he'd collapsed into his hiding place earlier. RED had offered him some newer designs and he'd heard that his BLU counterpart had actually replaced his right hand with a mechanical one but this wrench was special. It'd been with him through thick and thin for most of his adult life both on and off the battlefield.<p>

And now...now it was his last defense as he left the alcove, shifting aside some of the rubble with some well-placed swings, stumbling back to the ruins of the RED control point. For all the damage and havoc that the BLUs had unleashed, he clung to the hope that there were still some medkits left, either left lying unused on the battlefield or protected within a surviving resupply locker under the ruins. And if he could fix himself up?

Well, as much as he appreciated that the fellas over at BLU were in much the same situation as his allies in RED and he usually didn't hold anything against any of them (except maybe that damn Spy, always sappin' everything in sight)...they'd broken the rules of the engagement and he'd been separated from his team, faced with the very real threat of bleeding to death...

The RED Engineer was seething, his mind already running into overdrive even as his body weakly protested, barely able to move forwards...


	2. And so it begins

**Author's notes:** So, yeah, got some feedback way quicker than I expected in the form of a review, story alert and two favourites. I'm going to take this as a sign that me attempting to write again isn't a _complete_ waste of time. With some free time and a wish to do something creative I decided to devote some time to getting Chapter 2 done, which is almost twice as long as the first chapter and really sets the tone of what's to come. I've took some liberty with the locations and relations of the characters but hey, I don't think I've gone too far beyond what is established in canon. Still, if you have a problem with my characterisation or my use of say, "Teufort" instead of "2fort", then let me know.  
>Don't expect further updates to be done one after the other like this. Things will be infrequent and unreliable at best. A little warning: things may seem a wee bit darker than the usual super happy fun world of TF2 we're used to...or maybe not.<br>_Edit_: Thanks go to GothicChesire, who's helped correct some mistakes with both chapters. Things should be a little clearer now, hopefully. Further thanks go to everyone who's favourited, put this on story alert or reviewed so far! I'll try not to let you down. 

_**Chapter 2: And so it begins...**_

The Engineer sighed in relief as he finished binding his bad leg. He'd been fortunate enough to spot the top of a resupply locker sticking out of the rubble with one door slightly ajar. He wasn't able to move the larger debris or the locker itself, but he was able to position his remaining arm through the door and slowly wriggle the door outwards, allowing him to pull medical supplies out. Painkillers would have been a godsend to the Texan but he knew that the Medic had never bothered to stock up on them. Considering the nature of the battle against BLU, the medigun and the respawn system, it would have been a waste.

Somehow he doubted that was the only reason the Medic didn't have anything to ease pain. The doc was an okay guy most of the time, if a little stressed out, but, well...the gleam in his eyes when he operated on his teammates? The Engineer shuddered at the memory. He'd been able to stop the bleeding from the stump joined to his left shoulder that used to be his arm and had even sorted out his left leg fairly competently. Sure he'd given out a few grunts of pain when he'd been removing the shrapnel and it was a messy job, but he had endured it and bound the limb. Whilst he still couldn't quite run and jump about the place, whooping like a cowboy, he could at least walk on it and possibly even jog without any major pains for now.

He'd had enough time to consider his next move and knew that his best choice would be to head to the base at Teufort. The base was situated in a town to the north of Dustbowl, past a small mountainous region. The local RED supply train which supplied the company's bases ran from Thunder Mountain, past Badwater Basin, by the town of Teufort, through the mountains, by Dustbowl and through Gold Rush. If he could get to the supply train he could get to Teufort and plan his next move from there.

Of all the bases, Teufort was probably the single most used and had some fairly good accommodation for each team in addition to methods of contacting HQ. It was a place the Engie knew like the back of his hand and for all the death and bloodshed; he was a little fond of the place. He had a lot of good memories of the team enjoying themselves during ceasefire, sometimes even able to go into the town and have a night out.

The Texan shook his head, berating himself for getting lost in his thoughts. He still had to get there yet and despite his efforts, he still wasn't exactly at peak physical condition at the moment. He glanced at his trusty wrench, wishing for a moment that he hadn't lost his other weapons and toolboxes in the explosion in the respawn room. Members of BLU might still be out there and he had nothing but his wrench and his wits to deal with them.

As much as he hated to admit, he'd have to take a page out of the Spy's book if he was to survive. And so he left the debris that was once the last control point, cautiously making his way through the battlefield. Looking at the blast marks, smouldering rubble and countless craters scattered around him, he felt that Dustbowl was much like himself at the moment: wounded, alone and a shadow of its former self.

Quietly creeping past the first control point of the final stage he entered the thankfully still intact building that would lead to where BLU's respawn for this round stood. He silently made his way downstairs and peeked around the corner to spot the damaged wreck of the respawn room. The fencing that blocked access to the previous stage had been torn down. More and more signs that this truly hadn't been a normal round of Attack/Defend...if you could really call a war controlled with time limits, technology to bring mercenaries back to the death and the men he worked alongside "normal" in the first place.

The lone member of RED continued backwards through Dustbowl, ducking here and there, trying to use cover and ceasing his movements at every sound he heard or thought he heard. The dang place was just too quiet, it wasn't right. Apart from the occasional gust of wind or the crackling of flames that still persisted, it was eerily quiet.

Or at least, it was until the tunnels in stage two started to collapse. Eyes widening behind his goggles in surprise at the sudden rumbling above and the rocks bouncing off his hard hat, the Engineer broke into a run and escaped the tunnels with only a minor headache and a complaining leg. He sat down for a moment outside to regain his breath and let himself recover. He quickly got up, checking in all directions (including above him, you don't be with RED this long and not learn about aerial attackers) as he crept past the first control point of stage two. The building was a heap with only the control point itself still intact.

He suddenly tensed as his ears picked up a sound in the distance. A voice? His eyes narrowed and his face took on a frown as he approached the respawn room that marked the transition from stage two to stage one. A familiar, annoying voice, no doubt about it. There's no mistaking the voice of a Scout, after all. The kids sure did seem to love getting under people's skin and attracting as much attention to themselves as possible, there were times where he'd wanted to throw his wrench into the RED Scout just as much as his BLU counterpart.

He carefully stayed in the shadows of the tunnel, listening to the Scout and slowly edging his way towards stage one. It was the BLU Scout unfortunately and he was having a rather...heated conversation with someone over his earpiece, his back to the Engineer. "-I just don't see why I gotta hang around this dump, keepin' an eye out for those RED losers. We got them good this time, so stop bein' a baby about it, I got this."

The Texan started to doubt that the Scout would notice him even if he was right in front of him, the BLU runner starting to raise his voice. "Hey! Fuck you, you damn spy, you want some of dis? Ooh, real scary! Why don't you come back down here and say that to my face?"

Ah, the Spy. Put two of perhaps the most aggravating mercenaries together and watch the sparks fly. Seems this held true for both teams. The Engineer considered his options at this point. The Scout was distracted so he could probably sneak by him or deliver a swift wrench to the back of the boy's head. Whilst he would be doomed if the Scout actually noticed him, he didn't feel inclined to bash the kid on the noggin' either. If the BLU Spy suddenly heard a cry of pain from the Scout or the earpiece going silent, the whole enemy team would know something was up.

Besides, it didn't feel right to just sneak up on the boy and do him in like this. He was a lot like their own Scout and for all the pains he'd dealt with because of that hyperactive teammate (his constant insistence on building Dispensers in unusual places particularly grated his nerves), the kid's heart was in the right place and it was wrong for one so young to be risking his life at war all the time, even with respawn.

As soon as this thought was finished and the Engie had made his mind on sneaking past the BLU he heard something that made his blood run cold: "-don't know why we're still talking about this, you did sabotage their respawn and everythin', right? The Demoman, Soldier and Pyro did their part smashing and blowing everything to bits, so there shouldn't be any of those REDs still about. We got them, they're dead and we can finally go home! Loosen up, ya French bastard, I'm outta here and soon I'll be outta this mess and be going back home to Boston."

With that the Scout angrily turned off his earpiece, ending his communication with the BLU master of stealth, pouting as he muttered insults under his breath, turning around to pick up his bat from where he'd left it propped up against the debris-

WHAM! The BLU had no chance to dodge or come up with some retort, let alone defend himself as the burning fury of a Texan with 11 PhDs, a strong arm and a hefty wrench landed upon him. With a dull thud, the Scout's body fell to the ground, sliding a little and kicking up some dust before coming to a stop, a slight trail of blood smeared across the ground.

The RED Engineer panted, sweat cascading down his face as his wrench hung by his side, still held in a tight, vice-like grip, fiery blood rushing around his body. Seconds passed and a slight wind picked up, blowing a tumbleweed into the Texan's leg. Suddenly waking from his trance, he glanced down and stepped back, dropping his wrench as he did so. Soon, he too was on the ground, kneeling as he stared up at the blazing sun ahead.

The Scout's words had broken his mind from his injury-induced haze, cementing his thoughts on two clear points: that the respawn was in fact disabled completely rather than suffering a mere malfunction, and that it had been very much an intentional act. His thoughts had become clear, precise...

When he was little, he was taught about what a man should and shouldn't do. A man should be strong, should be polite, never hit a woman and never show his weakness, never shed tears. He took these lessons to heart even as he expanded his intellect and worked tirelessly over his first early machines. For his entire life he had abided by these lessons as best he could and throughout all the bloodshed and insanity this war had caused he had not once shed a tear.

Until now.

He started at the sun, his vision distorted by the darkness of his goggles and the tears in his eyes, trickling down his face beneath his trademark eyewear. The Engineer cried. He cried for his comrades, the men he had ate, lived and killed alongside these past few years, the quirky mercenaries he had grown to love as if part of some crazy family, the people who had saved his hide more times than he could count.

They were gone: the Scout with his enthusiasm and youthful naivety despite his arrogance... The Soldier who, for all his clear insanity, only wanted his team to be at their best at all times... The Pyro, man, woman or whatever the current rumour of the week was, his job would have been unbearable without their assistance... The Demoman, he may have been drunk more often than not and hard to approach but sit down next to him with a beer and talk defence and he'd be a friend for life... The Heavy Weapons Guy, powerful, loud and fierce to his enemies, caring, humble and fiercely defensive of his teammates... The Sniper, possibly the Engineer's best friend in this war during ceasefire, a man who like himself liked to enjoy the quiet and the scenery every now and again, sitting together on the roof of Teufort... The Medic, regardless of his past and his love of sawing through human flesh, he took care to heal everyone on the team and keep them all alive, even "wasting" an Übercharge on the Engineer once to save him... And even the Spy, that crafty, smooth-talking, cowardly backstabber who nonetheless had never betrayed the team and for all his teasing, wasn't all that bad...

A scream echoed throughout the three stages of Dustbowl and far beyond, charged with sorrow, righteous anger and regret. For but a moment time ground to a halt and the world was silent as the last RED mourned the death of his team, pouring his pent-up emotions over the years into a single cry that would cause the BLU team all to shudder, suddenly afraid, and for a certain emotionless, manipulative Announcer to feel something akin to human fear for the first time in decades. In Australia, the man known as Saxton Hale paused in the middle of his regular disembowelling of a group of hippies to look to the sky and let a frown form on his face before continuing to pummel his way through his own personal bloodbath.

Time started again and the man known only by his class designation, the Engineer, rose to his feet, taking his goggles off for a moment to wipe his face with his only hand before closing his eyes and slowly placing them back on. A breath in, a breath out, the wind blew once more and the tumbleweed rolled away from the scene.

He opened his eyes and even beneath the darkness of his eyewear, a powerful fire burned, sparking and flashing in those now tearless eyes. He reached for his wrench and holstered it, moving slowly to the body of the BLU Scout. The boy was still alive, as evidenced by the slow rise and fall of his chest. A quick check revealed the strange, modified Force a' Nature the BLU had been using earlier and a standard pistol identical to his own.

The primary weapon was useless to the Engineer, unable to wield it with one arm and the knockback from it being too much for him in his current state. Had he been thinking more rationally he may have kept it to investigate the modifications that had made the Scout even more of a pain than normal in battle today, but instead he threw it aside, pocketing ammo for the pistol and gripping the pistol in his good hand, sunlight glinting from the barrel.

The Texan avenger spun the firearm in-between his fingers before squeezing off a few rounds into the back of the Scout's head, staining the runner's shirt a bright red. A press of a release button and a quick toss upwards, and the Engineer's hand reached for his pocket even as the clip fell from the pistol. A new clip in his palm, a swift movement almost too fast for the eye to see, and the gun was in his hand once more, now loaded with a new full clip of ammo.

The spent clip clattered onto the ground, the sound seeming so much louder than it should have in the deathly silence. He trudged forward, one step at a time, his face neutral and expressionless as the Scout's corpse faded away behind him, indicating that the respawn system was still very much available for the BLUs.  
>As the wind blew once more and the sun's rays continued to warm the earth, there was no smile on the mercenary's face, no glint in his eyes, no spring in his step. There was only the fire in his eyes, the sun glinting off his gun and the dirt on his helmet.<p>

RED team was no more. Now there was only... 

The Last Engineer.


	3. The Train to Teufort

**Author notes:** Been pretty surprised with the responses I've been getting so far, wasn't really expecting anyone to notice this fic, let alone give it praise in any form. Your reviews, alerts, favourites, etc are highly appreciated. This chapter is a tad short and may not flow all that well. It's been a long, stressful day and I needed to bury myself in something. If the story suffers because of that, I apologise.  
>As ever, feedback is a massive help! Tell me what you like, what you hate, what you think needs work! As new as I am to writing fanfiction, I'd say I need all the help I can get! <p>

_**Chapter 3: The Train to Teufort**_

The mercenary prowled his way through Dustbowl and beyond, once again leaving the strictly defined boundaries that they fought in and entering the area surrounding it. A bead of sweat trickled slowly down his brow as the relentless sun pounded down upon him from above, his heart still racing as he twitched his head to and fro. Whether it was to search for danger or prey, only he knew.

Dusty brown and oranges made up the landscape, a sharp contrast to the almost painfully blue sky above. The man glared at the sky for a moment, resenting the pain something as simple as a colour brought him. His mind was quiet, his heart was numb, and his movements were comparable to the machines his hands had brought into this world: repetitive, mechanical and deathly efficient.

A part of him expressed weariness and shame. He had lost control and despite what the BLUs had done, there was no need to kill the boy. There had to be an explanation, BLU had never done something so...cold and bloody before. As fiercely competitive as things had been, as the war had dragged on there had formed an almost friendly rivalry between the teams at times...

From a colder, more rational perspective, killing the Scout merely ensured that thanks to respawn, BLU would know that a member of RED still lived. If he'd just left him after the blow to the skull, he would have had a much better chance of escape. Perhaps even now the BLUs were preparing for him?

This line of thought was mostly ignored, the thoughts quieting before the roaring in his mind, the fire that pushed him through the abandoned mines that littered the area; the darkness and coolness within providing momentary respite from the flame in the sky. He was getting closer. There were a lot less tunnels and overturned minecarts were instead being replaced with crates and barrels. Not much longer until he reached the tracks...what would be waiting there?

A few intact buildings, minor shacks and in the distance, a train waited patiently on the tracks. A sound. The Engineer suddenly slowed his pace and pressed himself up against the wall of a nearby shack, his breathing sounding far too loud in his ears as he paused, debating whether to peek around the corner to identify the source.

And then it hit him, a stench that almost bowled him over, causing the Texan to fall to one leg with a quiet thump. The sounds suddenly became a lot more distinct and everything fell into place: the overpowering smell of alcohol and incoherent mumbling interrupted by the occasional snore. It would appear that he had almost stumbled upon the enemy Demoman, likely having recently celebrated the BLU victory the way he dealt with just about everything, by poisoning his liver and turning his breath into a weapon in its own right.

A quick glance around the corner confirmed this suspicion: the BLU Demoman had his back to a wall, several crates nearby strewn about and forced open, surrounded by a vast scattering of empty bottles and shards of glass. For a moment, as he took this sight in, the Engineer was almost his regular self, merely quietly observing, and calculating his next actions with care.

This was quickly extinguished as the Demoman moved in his sleep. "-gonna kill ya and keep killin' ya...and 'am never gonna...zzz" The Scottish cyclops grumbled, snoring again as he shifted back into a comfortable position. The Texan had retreated as soon as the BLU had moved and when he peeked around again, his face was set into a look of grim determination.

The train he sought had a cloud of steam above it he was certain wasn't there before and upon further observation there was a carpet of sticky bombs between him and his goal. Sparing only a single glance towards the drunken mercenary, he ran as best he could, putting more power into his left leg to compensate for his right as his arm pumped up and down, pistol still held tightly in his competent grip.

One leg crashing down, the other stretching forward, his body burning as he pushed himself forward, the world seeming to slow down as a whistle blew, urging him onwards. Another foot met earth, another kick, head turning as the Demolitions expert shifted in response to the whistle. The last RED stared at the BLU as he passed him, fire in his eyes, in his lungs, in his aching muscles.

It was then that his right foot planted itself on a whiskey bottle.

He saw it but could do nothing to stop it, slowly falling backwards as if moving through molasses as the bottle rolled forwards, making a little "chink" as it hit a rock embedded in the dirt. Another whistle, a puff of smoke and the cyclops awoke.

Time resumed as normal. The Texan fell onto his back with a grunt, turning to his side and getting up on his good leg, pointing his stolen pistol at the Scotsman, his remaining eye opening in surprise and then narrowing, hand already reaching for the grenade launcher beside him. The Demoman was surprisingly fast, considering his grogginess, but he wasn't fast enough. A stream of bullets escaped the pistol, a few missing, others impacting the BLU's body and one piercing his hand, causing him to recoil away from his primary weapon.

With a roar of pain he abandoned any attempts at retrieving his weapon and instead threw himself at the Engineer, fist pulling back even as the RED emptied the rest of his loaded ammunition into the charging Scot. The pistol clicked empty as the Demoman's fist grazed the Engineer's jaw, the drunken punch still causing a terrible impact that threw him back, dropping the handgun in the process. The BLU wobbled from the overcommitted punch, only just able to maintain his balance through his alcohol-induced haze. Stumbling back a little, this gave the Texan enough time to reach for his wrench, snarling as he did so.

His opponent could take a better beating than he could even if he was in better health and with the Scotsman's current state he likely could handle pain a good bit better too. But, the mercenary mused as he tightened his fingers around his melee weapon, there were some facts that couldn't be denied. Despite his frantic shooting, most of his shots had been good, solid hits at fairly close range. The pistol may not have been the fastest, most accurate or powerful weapon on the battlefield, but a full clip emptied into someone within optimum range?

As much as the weapon was underestimated by most, there was no denying that even hardier classes like the Solider and Demoman would be hurting something fierce and whilst it was not enough to concern a Heavy, we would certainly have known about it. Considering this and the Engineer's own condition, the next blow would likely be what decided this brawl.

The Demoman threw his weight forward again, fist travelling in a wide arc, sacrificing any speed, grace, or precision for raw power. The roundhouse found itself hitting thin air as the Engineer hurled his wrench straight forward, the tool leaving his vice-like grasp and embedding itself in the BLU's skull with a sickening crunch and squelch. The Texan took a single step back, breathing heavily as the Scot collapsed at his feet. He didn't bother trying to remove his wrench from his opponent's skull, instead catching his breath as he gazed intently on the corpse, waiting. A flicker, a fade, and the bloody wrench was on the dry earth, bloodstains and bottles the only proof of the Demoman's former presence as his sticky bombs detonated harmlessly to one side, kicking a cloud of dust up as they did so.

A whistle blew, a white cloud beyond the smoke and the Engineer grimaced, brought harshly back into reality, wrench already in hand as he ran through the dust. Pain flared in his chest and his right leg clicked as he pushed himself on, glad of the goggles that protected his eyes.

More liquid fire pulsating his veins, head rushing, body burning, dust settling...

Movement. A train departs a battlefield, having made its very last stop there. A stolen pistol lies forgotten in the dirt and dust behind it, clouds of it settling only to be moved again by an increasing wind. The train wheels spin, the steam trails from the front carriage, birds fly overhead and the wind howls as it picks up speed.

The sun glares down on Dustbowl. The tumbleweeds flee, the fires die down and eight of the finest mercenaries in the world sleep, with nobody to remember them and nothing to mark their passing. A man gasps for breath, coughing and shivering, body demanding rest as he vows that his team shall not die forgotten.

He wheezes and gives a little smile at having been able to jump into an open-topped trailer on the train as it sped by, before he leans over to one side and vomits, his body surrendering to his exertions. With a final gasp and splutter, his mind too succumbs to his exhaustion.


	4. Crate Complications

**Author notes:** Here's chapter 4, massive thanks to everyone who's read, review, favourited, alerted, PMed me, etc. Sorry if I kept anybody waiting, I was actually planning on leaving this until Friday or the weekend but felt the urge to write. Oh yeah, noticing an odd little trend here: odd numbered chapters tend to be shorter than the even numbered ones and ignoring author's notes, 1 & 3 are very close in size, as are 2 & 4. I did not do this on purpose, it just sorta...happened. Huh.  
>Anywho, let me know what you think, exclaim your sympathy for poor Engie, point out my really obvious mistakes I've somehow missed or why this fic is terriblegood. Enjoy!

_**Chapter 4: Crate Complications**_

An explosion and subsequent decrease in speed woke the exhausted Engineer up from his rest, the train rocked from whatever the hell had just happened. Before he could he even mutter a "What in tarnation?" the supply train was rocked again, the source now obvious.

Carefully getting up to a slight crouch, the RED noted the BLU train that was now travelling alongside him, and the distinctive sound of the BLU Soldier angrily yelling as he fired off another rocket at the carriages near the front. Clearly the enemy mercenary hadn't seen the Engineer in the open trailer, likely by virtue of being hidden behind the crates it carried.

The supply train was weathering the hits surprisingly well, but it was only a matter of time before the engine was destroyed, a link between the carriages shattered or the whole thing was simply derailed by the mentally unsound man currently standing on top of the other train. That the trains were still moving at considerable speed didn't seem to faze the BLU as he reloaded his primary weapon.

The Engineer mentally groaned as he spotted, even from this distance, the weapon the Soldier held: the Black Box. Even if he had a decent weapon and was in better condition he wouldn't exactly be in a rush to fight such a strong offensive class. Even if he managed to somehow acquire a better weapon than his wrench (he cursed under his breath for leaving the almost-empty pistol behind) and factoring in the element of surprise...

Well, things weren't looking good. The Black Box may not be able to store as many rockets but its ability to somehow heal the user slightly meant that a firefight would be a lot longer to finish than usual, not exactly ideal on two moving trains. The best way to deal with a Soldier would be to get him fast and hard but the distance, movement of the train and the BLU's enhanced survivability were not in his favour. A single direct hit with any rocket would be more than enough to spread the Texan's inner workings six ways to Sunday.

If only he could get a hold of some weapons, at least then the RED would have a slight chance...

Sudden realisation struck, the mercenary glancing at the contents of the trailer he was on: crates. His right hand quickly closed itself around his wrench, a fire lighting his eyes again as he approached the nearest locked weapon cache, heart hammering. Some measured application of force at certain angles and the lock was off. The Engineer quickly freed his only hand so that he could open the box that would be his salvation just as the Soldier hefted his rocket launcher and aimed at the train's engine.

The Texan's eyes widened in surprise as the train was blasted once more. The crate contained nothing but assorted...hats! Some were tacky, others simple and yet others truly insane. He thought he spotted a hat that was made of several hats suck together as he frantically searched the crate for other contents. Weapons, ammo or even metal, please! Anything besides these useless hats!

Turning around in frustration, he gripped his wrench once more to break open another crate only to stumble as the trailer rocked far worse this time, the crate full of hats actually being knocked onto the rails below. There was a distinctive crushing sound as the crate and its contents were crushed. That last rocket hadn't been aimed at the engine car, but was a lot closer to home. Either the Soldier's aim had gotten really bad or he had an idea of where the runaway RED was (or he was just crazy, with that American, who really knew!).

Straightening up, he opened his next crate and was rewarded with a supply of ammo and metal. The BLU Soldier's next rocket did not come, causing him to pause slightly even as he smashed the next supply crate open. The enemy mercenary seemed to be thinking carefully, the process likely hurting his rocket-addled brain. This crate and the next few that were hurriedly opened contained weapons and one even contained medical supplies. The Engineer frowned.

As useful as having metal, ammo, medkits and weapons was, he still had a near-zero chance of success against the Soldier. Most weapons required both arms (or at least a single arm able to brace itself for the recoil) and if he started shooting at the BLU, he would give his position away. Medical supplies and ammunition are little good to a dead man, after all. And whilst the enemy had ceased shooting for some reason, with one rocket still loaded, he couldn't exactly sit around pondering a course of action even as his head pounded.

The RED was spared from further indecision by the sudden firing of a rocket, an increase in bumpiness on the tracks and an explosive shockwave. The wind was knocked out of him as he was blown back, desperately clutching at the sides of the trailer to keep himself on the train even as the carriages in front twisted, stopped or outright toppled off the tracks.

Dust rose, the supply train ground to a halt and the rival train grinding to a halt, the mad BLU jumping down with a painful wheeze and a slight crack to admire his handiwork.

It had been simple really. His earlier rockets had damaged key connections between cars at the front of the train and severely damaged the engine car. Spotting some rough terrain ahead and knowing the likely quality of the tracks...well, one timed shot to the engine car later and boom, instant train wreck.

The BLU grinned savagely at his own cunning. His own team doubted his tactical competence most of the time but as Sun Tzu once said: "Walk softly and carry a BFG-9000"

He frowned. Wait a minute, that didn't quite sound right, even for him. Shaking his head he glanced over at the chaos he had caused, still waiting for the dust to settle. Truth be told, the American hadn't expected the engine to explode and actually set the first few carriages on fire or to slide into each other quite so well but he'd be damned if he wasn't just peachy with the results. The trailers and carriages at the back hadn't been quite as affected but had still been smashed, derailed and ploughed into each other.

The Solider almost felt sorry for the poor RED son of a bitch. Then he reminded himself that this Engineer, his fellow American, was with the REDs and thus his clear enemy. He didn't exactly know why the REDs were the enemy but that had never bothered him before and it didn't now! They were probably all just communist scum or something. He stood tall and sniffed the air, smiling contently as he glared at the wreckage.

"You just got dominated, toymaker."

The Engineer coughed, blinking his eyes wearily and he slowly got up, finding himself a considerable distance to the side of the derailed supply train amongst scrapped metal and shattered crates. The wreckage was mostly between him and the tracks the BLU train had been using so he should remain unseen for now. He coughed again, lungs full of dust and ribs aching. Not for the first time, he was thankful for his goggles protecting his eyes and the hardhat that had miraculously stayed on his head this whole time and likely protected him from getting a concussion.

The dust had mostly settled and as he slowly rose to his feet, wincing in pain and stopping more than once as he did so, he took a more detailed observation of his surroundings. The carriages near the front of the wreckage were being slowly eaten away by small flames and the contents of many of the carriages and trailers had been strewn everywhere. Most had been smashed, buried or otherwise made unusable but here and there, there were survivors.

Some careful, quiet rummaging later (often accompanied with a few "Dagnabbit dabbit"s under his breath as his injured leg acted up again) he had found some useful items.

For one, he'd found a few toolboxes that deployed mini-sentries similar to what his BLU counterpart deployed with the Gunslinger. After raiding a metal refrigerated box that had been blown open he'd been shocked to find painkillers, ice bags, beer and bottles of water. He'd placed some ice underneath his construction helmet and swallowed some tablets along with the water, briefly entertaining the thought of taking the beer with him too. God knows he needed a good drink after what he'd been through so far. But no, a cold one would have to wait.

He'd found several grenades he'd never seen used in battle before in a strangely rusted iron crate, a revolver, a can of Bonk: Atomic Punch and a Detonator flaregun. His eyes merely stared at these items laid out on the ground before him before he crept over to the remains of the train and peeked a look further down the tracks. Sure enough, the BLU train had come to a halt further down the line and a blue speck was seen in the distance, seemingly walking down towards the wreckage.

The Texan's eyes narrowed, the other mercenary likely would be checking his handiwork, just to be certain that no REDs remained. He'd underestimated the BLU once. He wouldn't make that mistake again. With a quick glance back at the items he had found, a devious smile slowly crept onto his face.

The Soldier was feeling particularly elated. They had managed to get rid of the pesky RED team and sure, one had slipped their net but he was certain that any class besides maybe another Solider, Heavy or Demoman would have perished or otherwise been heavily wounded from the crash. An Engineer, let alone a wounded Engie? Pfft, maggot was probably squished impaled or otherwise a lifeless ragdoll, never to hide behind his little machines again.

The BLU barked a laugh. He was only investigating to further boost his ego when he found the enemy's corpse and partly because their Spy had insisted that he ensure the Engineer was dead.

"Zheir Engineer has already escaped our grasp once, Monsieur, I need not remind you zhat he may do so again."

Damn spook, what did the Frenchman know? Coward just liked telling others would to do. As soon as he got back to base he would give the frog a piece of his-

A whistle and a small explosion not unlike a firework sounded, causing the Soldier to jump as an ember of flame landed on the arm of his uniform, setting him alight. His reaction was loud and predictable, in true Soldier fashion: "I. AM. ON. FIIIIIIIRE!"

His mind was focused on putting out the fire that was trying to spread all over him, so he naturally didn't notice the next flare fired at him, this one detonating on his helmet, causing the BLU to yelp as he dropped to the ground. He rolled, the fire put out even as his helmet flew off his head. Jumping to attention, he snarled, his usually hidden eyes burning with rage. With an additional growl he cocked his shotgun, having left the Black Box with the train (the wreck of shrapnel and scrap metal wasn't the best place to fire rockets at point-blank range near).

The Engineer retreated behind an overturned carriage, glad he hadn't been seen. He felt oddly...dirty. This was the second time today he had felt oddly like one of those dishonourable, treacherous spies, attacking with dirty tactics and relying on stealth and shadows. Still, it had kept him alive so far (just barely) and so far his plan was working. He carefully placed the Detonator on the ground, fumbling for the next weapon as the Soldier travelled further down alongside the train, trying to find where the flares had been fired from.

The flames had been put out, but the fire had never been his intention with the flares. They caused some minor damage, but more importantly had enraged the BLU and served as bait for the mercenary. If everything went mostly according to plan now...well, maybe, just maybe, things might just be dandy after all.

The Soldier was furious. Not only was the maggot alive, he had set him on fire and was now forcing him to trawl through the wreckage and even into some of the more intact carriages, trying to find the cheeky coward. Entering a particularly cramped and dark carriage that had been turned on its side he spat, waving his shotgun around.

"Come out and fight like a man, private!"

It was then that he heard it. A little beep, a slight whir. He turned and saw a little red light before he got a face full of rapid-fire, computer-targeted lead. Cursing and turning his face away from the mini-sentry hidden amongst the scrap metal, he fired wildly at the machine, stepping back out of the carriage. He wiped some blood from his jaw, wincing ever so slightly as he did so before setting his eyes on a tell-tale blur of red darting behind some crates.

"...this is my world. YOU DO NOT BELONG IN MY WORLD!"

With that cry he ran to the crates and unleashed his remaining shells at...another crate. Another beep, another whir and a second mini-sentry fired at his legs from ground level, hidden behind the corner. Click! His weapon was empty. Stumbling backwards, he fell over the broken remains of a trailer, outside of the turret's range but now flat on his BLU ass.

Then, the sound of a pin dropping and a grenade suddenly rolled into view. Getting up as quick as he could, the mercenary tried to made a quick exit, hate for the RED soaring to new heights even as he cried out: "OH SHI-"

A small explosion, a flurry of shrapnel and the American was flung back, sliding a little on the dirt by the tracks. His formerly BLU uniform was dark with the brown dust, black ash and the red of his own blood. He coughed a little, weakly turning his head to the side as he heard footsteps. His eyes slowly took in the tattered overalls of the RED Engineer and the difficulty with which he moved before he came to a rest by the Soldier's body.

The Engineer wheezed a little before lifting his hand up, flipping back the safety on the revolver. He preferred his semi-automatic pistol to this particular firearm favoured by Spies but he was competent enough with it. At this range, the superior accuracy wouldn't matter.

"That's what it feels like when eagles cry, soldier-boy."

And with that one-liner, the trigger was pulled and a good-sized hole was blown through the BLU's head, right between his eyes. The eyes filled with such disgust, loathing and insanity even in death as his body eventually faded away. The RED's face was blank as he span the barrel of the revolver, reloading a single bullet before twirling the weapon and pocketing it alongside the remaining grenades.

He slowly trudged to the BLU train in the distance before pausing for a moment, taking note of the Sun low in the sky, starting to cast red rays across the landscape.

A small sigh. A minor detour. A smiling Engineer kicking his feet back in the front car of the hijacked BLU train heading to Teufort, a cold beer in his hand. A sip. Yet another cough and a twinge of pain. He shuffles a little in his chair, taking note of the scenery as it rushes past, outlined by the Sunset as the land took on a redder tone.

A statistical improbability, but things were looking up, if only a little, for the last member of the Reliable Excavation Demolition mercenary team.y


	5. Teufort Blues

**Author notes: **Don't know what to say about this chapter, apart from it being rather dialogue-heavy and focusing mostly on the BLU team. Not sure if I was able to convey everything right and the character interactions feel weak but meh. What exactly has been going on with the BLUs is deliberately kept vague although I'd wager the basics can be figured out.  
>This chapter also breaks the pattern regarding length, being longer than 1 &amp; 3, but shorter than 2 &amp; 4. Forgive my attempts at portraying accent and speaking patterns in this chapter, I'm finding it difficult to make the characters sound like themselves. Not much action here but hey, poor Engie needs a breather and with how I'm currently planning things, the next few chapters should be pretty action-packed.<p>

_**Chapter 5: Teufort Blues**_

The BLU Spy was not pleased. The employee of Builders League United was not one anyone with sense would describe as "happy" or even "tolerant" at the best of times and under current circumstances...well, the Frenchman wasn't exactly the most stable member of the team. To put it bluntly, the normally calm and collected Spy was pacing back and forth, rapidly shifting between panic, anger, fear and, although he'd not admit it, shame.

Their plan had been flawless, as had the execution. That the only thing that had gone wrong was that single, apparently helpless RED had slipped their net was something to be commended. Or it would have been if the lone, one-armed Engineer equipped with little beyond what he could find lying around and his wits hadn't escaped.

"No...not escaped..." The Spy thought to himself furiously as he puffed on a cigarette, stopping his pacing for a brief moment. The Engineer had likely overheard his communication with the Scout considering when the boy had been killed, had managed to get past their Demoman, and board the RED supply train. Then he had cheated death once more when said train was destroyed by the BLU Soldier, kill the insane American, hijack their supply train and was by now at Teufort.

"Merde..." he cursed under his breath, glaring at the Soldier who stood sheepishly at attention to one side of the room. Another long draw on his cigarette, trying to steady his nerves. He turned to the rest of the team, trying to keep himself under control. "Gentlemen, we have failed. Ze RED Engineer was able to survive and likely wishes us all dead...permanently. We have broken contract and with an opposing team remaining to fight us, even if the team is but one man..."

He paused for effect, glancing around at his teammates. Of all of them, it was the Engineer, the Sniper and the Medic who seemed most thoughtful, as to be expected. "Headquarters will likely get involved. Not only will we still have to carry out this preposterous war but we will be punished for our actions. Ze Announcer...she may take personal interest in our misconduct."

At that everyone in the room visibly winced or shuddered. Nobody wanted to have to deal with her, after all. The woman just had a way of getting to people and not even the most hard-boiled of mercenaries seemed immune to her brutally cold presence.

To nobody's surprise, the Scout was the first one to speak up. "Yeah, yeah, we let one man get past us, real big problem. I've dominated the whole RED team at one time or anotha', so tell me Spook, why should we fear a freaking Engineer of all things? You scared or somethin', cause the guy keeps bashing your face in with that wrench a' his?"

"Of course not, but need I remind you, boy, that this man was able to kill you when unarmed, likely suffering from severe blood loss and was missing an arm?" Was the quick, cool reply, the annoyance of the masked man very visible on his features even with his face covered.

The Scout went slightly red and tensed, anger written all over his face. "That didn't count, the guy fucking crept up on me like a damn Spy, everyone knows that one on one he'd never stand a chance." At this he puffed out his chest, brandishing his bat threateningly. "I'd run circles round the cripple and before he even knew a thing, BONK! And brotha? Problem solved, one dead Hardhat, you want fries with that?"

Most of the team rolled their eyes at the runner's smirk, with the Spy and Engineer both facepalming and sighing, almost in unison.

The Texan spoke up, choosing his words carefully as he caressed the space that once held his right hand and now instead bore his grandfather's robotic hand design, the Gunslinger. "Look folks, doesn't matter who can beat who in a fair fight, the Spah's gotta point here. If we'd taken out alla RED in one swoop then everythin' would be cream gravy and we could all go home. But as it currently stands, we still gotta fight, we'll be having mad employers to deal with and we got one of the world's finest mercenaries currently gunning for our blood."

He stopped for a moment to take a breath and hold up his hands, glancing over at the Scout even as the boy opened his mouth to interrupt. "Now, I may be wrong about this but considering that the fella's managed to escape us so far, kill three of us and return to Teufort all whilst as wounded as he was...I'd say that we should be cautious. He may not be as big a threat as RED were when all nine were alive and shooting us, but he's still got a lot of potential to be a real pain in the behind for us. We killed off his friends and if it were me...I wouldn't rest until the mother-hubbards who'd done it were dead."

Silence. Nobody moved. Until finally the Heavy spoke, shuffling a little forward and away from the Medic as he did so.

"One leetle man is still alive. This is not big problem. But he is RED and we broke rules, so we still have problem. Comrades work together to fix problems, da?" The Russian, straightened up a moment, looking at the Medic as if for support. The doctor said nothing, giving a slight nod of the head for the Heavy to continue. "I think standing tall is best. We deal with this as it comes; let scary lady yell at us, we have faced worse. Are we not men? We are killers on battlefield; can we not face woman and smart leetle RED? Have endured for many winters, Heavy not see why this change. We will survive, we will win, we will be able to go home."

Further bickering ensued but the Spy's thoughts kept on drifting back to the RED even as the Demoman fell over, the Soldier started a yelling contest with the Scout, and the Sniper tried to leave the room. The others hadn't seen what he had, didn't suspect what he did about the whole war. And...they had never seen the Engineer truly angry. They were enemies yes, but they had always maintained a fairly friendly rivalry and both Engineers tended to be fairly soft-spoken and peaceful men.

Except, the Frenchman mused, if you destroyed their hard work time and time again. He had seen the fire in the Engineer's eyes before, visible even beneath those goggles. He had heard the anguish in his voice as he beheld the scattered scrap metal that had once been his mechanical children. He had felt the rage manifested as the RED charged at him, somehow knowing which one of his teammates was actually the Spy, shrugging off the frantic bullets fired by the Spy, taking a knife slash to the face without stopping.

He remembered, time and time again, the flight of the wrench and the hand that held it so tightly as it swung. He recalled with distinct clarity the final moments as it filled his vision and impacted his skull, time and time again. He shuddered, reaching into his suit pockets for more cigarettes as the Medic attempted to prevent the Heavy, Soldier and Scout from killing each other as the Pyro simply watched, amused. The master of stealth and espionage fumbled for a moment, unable to find his lighter when a voice interrupted him.

"Here ya go, slim." The BLU Engineer stood before him, holding a lighter in his right hand. The Spy tried not to stare at the mechanical appendage as he plucked the lighter from its fingers and without thinking lit the cigarette and closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the brief respite. With a deep breath he exhaled and brought himself back to reality. The two mercenaries just stood there, looking at the chaos that as ever, always seemed to brew when you stuck the team in one room for too long.

They didn't speak their worries but they didn't need to. There was a man with great intellect and resolve, capable of doing anything, currently mad as hell, thirsting for their blood, with easy access to resources at the Teufort base and no limitations or regulations to hold him in check.  
>He would give no mercy, have no restrictions and have plenty of time to prepare, depending on what HQ did with BLU.<p>

The pair shivered slightly, the Spy pulling out his butterfly knife instinctively and the Engineer staring at the Gunslinger. Fear struck both men, as did the bitter sting of shame at having resorted to such a low blow, stripping a man of everything for their own selfish reasons. Justice would come and the form the Angel of Death took would be that of an intellectual Texan burning with fire...

At that moment, said Texan was fighting a desperate battle against weariness and losing. He'd arrived at Teufort and as much as his senses screamed at him to go fix himself up properly in the medical bay with the Medigun, his body had other plans. He was exhausted and the little nap and rest he'd gotten on the supply trains didn't cut it. He should check the base over properly and maybe go to the communications room and contact HQ but right now the mercenary wanted nothing more than to enter blissful sleep and maybe wake up from this nightmare.

His vision was getting blurry, his steps uneven as he plodded slowly through the base. The parts of the base that weren't involved during combat were towards the rear of the base and partly underground. Everyone had their own room...or had.

He blinked, trying to move his train of thought away from the fate of his team. The base seemed to be in proper order, if a little untidy and a tad bit dusty. It had been a while since they'd been stationed at Teufort, lately they'd been carted off to a lot of new and strange locations. The last time they'd been here they'd left in a bit of a hurry so the team hadn't had the chance to clean up properly...

The Engineer suddenly halted his movements as he entered the social area where the team spent a lot of their time during ceasefire, swaying slightly as his eyes glanced over what he saw. A baseball, a half-finished bottle of scrumpy, a box of matchsticks, a plate covered in sandwich crumbs, a home-made medal, a packet of cigarettes, a jar filled with urine and a bag of bird seed for the Medic's doves.

His vision had gotten blurrier, his balance uneven. Right then and there he lost it, the true impact finally hitting him. He didn't even notice as the tears flowed freely, his legs moving automatically as he let out his sorrows. It was as if the world hadn't yet heard the news and was expecting the RED team to be back and on duty any moment now. But instead they were gone, never to again set foot inside this place, never again to speak and joke and fight and live...

He stumbled his way into their living quarters, the unoccupied rooms mirroring the emptiness he felt consuming his soul. He knocked things over, he hit the walls, he kicked things aside...he knew not what he was doing, only that he didn't want to be here anymore, he didn't want to fight, didn't want to be alone. He wanted his team back. He wanted his life back. He wanted...

His body wanted sleep and was quite sick of being denied. Hiccuping, coughing, crying and trembling, he made his way to his room, not caring to shut the door. He had just enough sense left in him to remove his helmet and goggles before he collapsed onto his bed, fully dressed and still sobbing as he drifted into restless sleep.

In the basement of Teufort, there was a sudden whirring and several beeps as a large computer stirred into life. The tape reels span and slowly, with steady beeps, whirs and clatters, a message was printed onto paper and lay waiting to be torn off. The room became silent once more, the phone lines bearing no further communication and the computer having done its job. The telegraph was blunt, short and to the point:

"RED will engage BLU at Teufort in precisely one month. Objective is to secure the intelligence. Usual restrictions lifted. Apart from interfering with the enemy base, DO WHATEVER IS NECESSARY TO WIN."


	6. Countdown and Confirmation

**Author notes:** You know how I said there'd be action? I lied. Big showdown comes later, until then enjoy more lonely Engie and mysterious discussions with BLU.  
>This chapter was hard to write, it's pretty dialogue heavy and not much happens, instead revealing a few tidbits of knowledge, clues to the whole circumstances leading to this point and some confirmation (sort of). Should be another chapter, maybe two, before the battle at Teufort. And after that? Well, that'd be telling, wouldn't it? ;P<br>My thanks again to GothicCheshire for being a semi-beta for me.

_**Chapter 6: Countdown and Confirmation**_

A single hand clatters furiously at a console, the hand's owner making grunts to himself at certain intervals. This continues for a few minutes until the Engineer suddenly slumps and collapses into a nearby chair. The communication room becomes silent once more as he fumbles for the slip of paper he'd placed on the table nearby. It had took him a little while to remember how to operate some of the lesser used machines in this room and he was thankful that he'd spent the time to learn how to use them in the first place. He'd used them in the past to check supplies, communicate with HQ and help with some trickier calculations regarding some of his half-finished inventions he made in his spare time.

Now though? Now it served a more morbid purpose. He'd checked and double checked both the respawn system and the status of his teammates, stubbornly clinging onto some hope that other members of RED may have survived. He'd spent the time waiting for results reading and re-reading the slip of paper he'd found waiting for him that informed him of the next battle. He was still reeling from the announcement of the upcoming battle in a month when the machines had finally dinged and given him answers.

The answers confirmed his worst fears.

The complex network behind TF Industry's respawn system was down entirely for the RED team and surprisingly, a large number of BLU bases were also without functioning respawn. Unfortunately for the Texan, the status of the BLU rooms at Teufort was listed as "active". His teammates on the other hand, were calmly dismissed as "inactive". The cold nature of the report, just another bit of data in some database owned by the Administrator brewed conflicted emotions within him.

The last RED was bitter, enraged that not only had BLU violated the Terms of Engagement in this war, but that his fallen comrades were so quickly dismissed and forgotten. The message he had received...it acted as if there was still a RED team, rather than a cripple surrounded by an empty base. At the same time, he felt oddly numb, as if the rage was coming from someone else and not himself. Part of him still clutched, however irrationally, at any hope it could devise, that he'd wake up, that his team would pop in at any moment, that this whole mess was some sick joke played by the Announcer. After all, with the RED half of the system down, HQ couldn't get accurate readings on the condition of their employees, could they?

In truth, the Engineer didn't know exactly how RED and BLU were tracked or how respawn worked exactly, so it could very well be that HQ could verify that the rest of RED were dead even with the system down...but he wished desperately that this was not so, that the marking of his allies and his only friends these past few years as "inactive" was an edit made on assumptions rather than hard evidence.

The more rational side of the Texan pointed out exactly how delusional such thinking was even as he shivered, the message of the telegram truly reaching him. In one month, he was expected to fight BLU once again in this familiar battlefield, alone, unsupported and with the slightest mistake costing him his life...permanently.

Securing the enemy intelligence at Teufort with his team was difficult enough, the fighting could often go on all the way through the day and still end in a stalemate. Everybody knew this place like the back of their hand, meaning the BLU Spy knew exactly where to hide, where he would build. Their Demoman knew just where to bounce his grenades to land a direct hit. The Scout knew how to use the base's corners and corridors to avoid sentry gun fire whilst still popping up to perform hit and runs. Their Sniper would be able to score a headshot on the wounded Engineer easily. The Heavy...

The Engineer paused in his worrying. To put it bluntly, if he left the RED base he wouldn't be able to take more than two steps before dying. Yet, if he holed himself up he wouldn't be able to survive all that much longer, let alone actually try and capture the intel. In a direct fight in his current condition any one of the BLUs could best him on their own. Even at his best, he wouldn't be able to take on the BLU Engineer, Soldier, Heavy, Demoman or Pyro on his own.

One of the nearby machines beeped, startling the one-armed mercenary. He looked at it for a moment, noting that it was considerably older than the modern tape reel-equipped computers. The archaic device appeared to be operated on punch cards and looked like it was missing more than a few parts. The beeping was probably some fault.

The Texan moved to get up, the mission announcement paper in his hand. A pause. A breath in, a breath out. The beeping, like a sentry...missing parts...the BLU Engineer...

A sudden grin lit up on his features, the fire flaring back into his eyes as he read the paper for what must have been the hundredth time. The words "by any means necessary" echoed in his mind as he ran out of the communications room, mind racing with ideas, of plans, of strategies, of how he could spend an entire month without restrictions to prepare for his showdown with the bastards that had stolen his team.

No...not his team. Not his allies. The other mercenaries had been his only friends these past few years and more than that, they had been family. As Soldier had once put it, once you've fought alongside a man, risked your life together and braced countless hardships...you form an unbreakable bond unlike any other. And BLU, unable to break that bond, saw fit to destroy the people the bond connected.

One Engineer. One Month. No limits. No mistakes. Only payback. Only vengeance.

Elsewhere, the BLU Spy shivered, frowning as he did so. The eagle-eyed Sniper noticed, offering the Frenchman a toothy grin as he clutched his #1 Sniper mug, currently full of steaming coffee. "What's the matter, Spoi? That cold 'eart of yours finally getting to ya?"

The Spy snorted, the feeling of cold passing as the man flipped out his cigarette case, lighting up and looking out into the cold night air. BLU were currently at an intermediate base, a place to stay between fights and transport. He had felt the need for some late evening air and possibly a stroll so he'd come out to find the Sniper already decked out here, gazing into the distance.

"I'm afraid not, bushman. Some of us have blood running through our bodies instead of ze boiling sludge you insist is coffee." The Spy retorted, turning up his nose at the steaming liquid as the Australian gulped more down before sighing in content afterwards. The Sniper otherwise remained silent, eyes unblinking as they swept over the dark landscape.

Awkward silence and finally he spoke up. "...I don't suppose there's any chance of there being another one of those RED buggers running around, is there? You're not going to suddenly turn out to be the RED Spy, having infiltrated our defences, hijacked our respawn and now about to put a knife in my back?"

More silence, shortly followed by snorting laughter. "Ahahahaha, bushman, please! So good to see that you paid attention in our team meetings." Was all the masked man could say before he leant against the wall, trying to subside his laughter, which only grew louder as he saw the Sniper's confused and angry expression.

"An' wot's that supposed to mean, spook? Ya better give me answers or I might be tempted to poke ya with my Kukri to check that you really are BLU." With this the Australian hefted the aforementioned knife, causing the Spy to quickly return to reality, suddenly noticing that the Bushman had his sniper rifle and a certain jar besides him in addition to the melee weapon.

Coughing once, straightening his posture and dusting off his suit the Spy became all business.

"It's true that one RED did manage to escape us and however unlikely, there could be another survivor out there, although they'd likely be at least as injured as Monsieur Texas was. With regards to the respawn system...I'm going to assume that like most of the team, our discussions regarding the plan these past few months went completely over your uncivilised head, hm?"

At that the Sniper rolled his eyes, raising his other hand in protest. "Look, I got the gist of the plan and our rolls in it...I just don't get all the technical details and other gobbledygook you and truckie were going over. Ain't my job to know the details, just the...execution."

The Spy resisted the urge to facepalm at the choice of words their Sniper used, likely thinking the pun was clever, 'oh look I'm an assassin, executed, ha ha ha.' Needless to say, the Frenchman was not amused.

"For you, my dear bushman, I'll keep things as brief and simple as I can. Let me first state that the respawn system is incredibly complex and completely controlled by TF Industries, the neutral party in the war that ze Announcer controls herself. Zhere is nobody alive bar the madame herself who has any true knowledge over how it works. What we do know is that the system is packed full of safeguards to maintain fairness, prevent AWOL mercenaries and tampering."

The masked man paused to see if he had the Australian's attention still. The Sniper merely nodded for the Spy to continue, his coffee forgotten in his hand, rapidly cooled by the night air.

"With the exception of places such as Dustbowl, where one team inherits the other's former respawn rooms, under no circumstances can members of the opposite team enter each other's respawn rooms, let alone use them. It's taken me months of sleuthing along with the Labourer's help looking over stolen blueprints to even get a rudimentary understanding of the basics. Considering our...time frame, gaining a full understanding and hijacking the systems was never a viable option to defeating RED and I'd imagine that it would carry much deeper repercussions that what we actually did."

"Sabotage an' destruction." The Bushman said with a grimace, finally lowering his weapon, clearly not too happy with what they had done. Professionals had standards after all, and it had taken him some convincing to go ahead with the scheme in the first place, whether he understood it or not. The Spy merely nodded, face unreadable, as he continued.

"It took a long time, requiring deliberate losses on our parts here and there, planted explosives, sapped machines, bribed employees at TF Industries and finally, the catalyst to it all, the destruction of Dustbowl...but we did it. A good few of our own respawn rooms were taken out in the process but it was either that or risk not destroying RED's half of the network. Entire battlefields are now unusable and we've lost almost half of our respawn rooms. This operation has been risky from day one but...it had to be done."

At that both men fell silent, remembering what exactly had driven them to this course of action in the first place. The Sniper used to think that the Spy lacked any real compassion or ability to feel remorse and up until now that had still held true to some extent. But right now, sitting outside underneath the crescent moon, he realised something as he looked at the master of stealth. For all his ability to manipulate and deceive, the Spy couldn't hide the truth in his eyes. The disgust, the shame, the pity and yes, remorse. The masked man was just as upset about having to do this as the Sniper was, he just hid it better.

Further silence. A birdcall in the distance, the muffled sound behind them of raised voices, this time appearing to be the Medic and Scout. The boy's angry cry of "I HATE doctors!" could just be made out before a scream of pain racked the base. Silence again.

Eventually the silence was broken by footsteps and a polite cough. The pair turned around to see their Engineer standing there, a pack of beer held in-between the fingers of the Gunslinger.

"Hey fellas, figured I'd get some time away from the usual chaos and I saw you two were missing so..."  
>The Texan trailed off, gesturing with his left hand at the beer. The Spy snorted, shaking his head and muttering his head about how American beer "tasted like piss" as he eyed the Sniper's jar, whilst the Sniper gave his thanks but declined, holding up his mug, not noticing how cold it had gotten. Shrugging, the Engineer opened a can, pulling up another chair and looking out at the landscape as the other two men had done.<p>

The three men enjoyed the peace together, all thinking deeply about their situation, what they had done, the upcoming meeting with the Administrator and, of course, of the one RED currently at Teufort. A gentle wind picked up, whistling quietly as if afraid to break the calm. Moments passed and as the last embers of the Spy's cigarette fell, the silence was broken once more. Not by the cries of a Scout in pain, the drunken detonations of their Demoman, the booming voice of the Heavy or even the barked commands of the BLU Soldier. No, the silence was broken by the Sniper of all people, who had absent-mindedly took a sip from his mug and immediately spat the cold concoction out, gagging.

Elsewhere, a man worked tirelessly with renewed vigour in the medical bay, glad that Teufort was so well stocked up on everything: metal, ammo, weapons, components and medical supplies. A Medigun was held in place overheard, firing its miraculous healing beams at him even as he alternated between treating his wounds properly and hammering away at scrap metal and various half-finished contraptions he'd brought from his quarters.

A chalkboard had been dragged into here from the war room and was filled with demented scribbles, design ideas and equations that boggled the mind. A lone dove separated from the rest, landing on the Engineer's shoulder and watching as he worked, cooing with interest at the man who had come in and fed them, quietly telling them that the Medic wasn't here. The man was odd and hadn't come in often until now; usually it was just the Medic or the big man who laughed as he played with them.

The dove called Archimedes cooed again, asking the man where the bigger man was. The only response was controlled breathing, the crackling of the Medigun and the sound of steel. Steel in his hands, steel on the table, steel in the eyes and steel in the heart.


	7. Fire and Steel

**Author's notes:** This chapter took a good while to do and I think it shows, the whole thing is more than double the length of some earlier chapters. Once I started writing I found things going in a direction I'd briefly entertained but not really planned and from there things just kept on flowing. There's probably a good few mistakes in here, a certain element may seem really cliché and I may have overdone a few things here and there but hopefully it'll all work out.  
>I do wish the site would keep my larger gaps to denote major scene changes (e.g. shift from RED to BLU) and for the separation between the author's notes and the story but meh, it can be dealt with. I've been feeling pretty rough all day so that combined with the difficulty of writing this chapter may mean I've completely messed up some aspects. Either way, I appreciate the continued feedback and support I've been receiving, I might not have gotten much further than the first chapter otherwise.<br>_Edit:_ Have found and fixed a few mistakes here and there. A few lines of text have been changed to make more sense or flow better and despite my best efforts, I've not been able to fix the paragraph spacing as I'd like. Chapter 8 should be done before the New Year.

_**Chapter 7: Fire and Steel**_

Days turn to nights, nights turn to days and still the Engineer tirelessly works, building, tweaking and testing. The clang of metal striking heated steel, still glowing hot from the forge. The beeps and whirs of machinery coming to life, blinking at their proud father. The explosions that rocked the base, scattering any wildlife foolish enough to be anywhere near the twin bases of Teufort...

Where there had once been but a lone man, weary and weak, a wreck without his team...that had been broken apart through sheer force of will, replaced with fire and intent, refined to perfection. He had gone to sleep with a hand of rusty iron and awoke with a fist of steel. With this hand he would rebuild...and with another, he would destroy. Where the cripple once stood there was now a man.

He'd nursed his injuries, crafted new weapons, new equipment, toiling without need for rest; time a meaningless concept to his mind, forever on overdrive. The Texan maintained himself solely through sheer determination, coffee and the very rare nap, the only importance of day or night being the countdown that brought him ever closer to that all-important day.

He flexed his new left hand experimentally before testing out the arm too, the metal gleaming under the strong lights. Both hands clenched into fists, his eyes surveying over his workshop: it was crammed full of machines, intel, blueprints, materials and documents his eyes were never meant to see. A grin. A laugh. A pounding heart, the burning drive of a man with nothing to lose.

Damn, he felt alive again!

Elsewhere, the BLU Spy was currently wishing very much that he was dead as he awkwardly stood in the large room, glancing nervously at the massive monitors. The desk before him was strewn with papers and books and behind that desk there sat his worst nightmare, currently sat with her back to him, surveying the monitors. The Spy had been here often enough to know how to best gauge the Administrator's moods and what not to say, but even for all his expertise on the matter and his never-ending supply of roguish charm...even he had difficulty best judging his course of action.

And so he remained silent, waiting for the Administrator to address him, resisting the urge to cram as many cigarettes as possible into his mouth in some futile attempt at steadying his nerves. He mentally tried to calm himself or at the very least project an aura of calmness onto his features and posture, reducing the occasional trembles through his spine to a barely noticeable vibration. A clock was ticking, loudly and annoyingly, the sound hammering his skull as he glanced around once more.

He'd been here often enough, but this room never failed to create powerful feeling in him. There was a large distance from the grand doors to the most powerful woman in the world's desk. Massive monitors showed vital information from across the world and replayed fight scenes from the history of the two mercenary teams. Impossibly dark shadows wavered at the edges of the room like grinding teeth ready to swallow souls into their fathomless depths. Harsh light shone down on anyone with the misfortune to be standing before the Announcer, a spotlight to cause them to sweat and shift, to feel the torture of being scrutinised...before she turned her eyes onto them and the real meeting began.

Finally, with a puff of smoke and a hacking cough, the chair span round, revealing...her. The Announcer. The Administrator. The owner of TF Industries, the neutral party in the never-ending war between Redmond and Blutarch Mann. The most powerful woman in the world, the one pulling the strings behind the scenes, master of the battlefield and of both mercenary teams. RED and BLU may have secretly owned between them every corporation on the planet, but the Spy had no doubt as to who held the real power over the population. It certainly wasn't the dimwitted ancient men who were still continuing this bitter brotherly feud.

Further silence, her glare tearing away at any psychological armour the Spy tried to erect, seeing past his mask, face and his endless stream of false identities to the soul of the man who stood before her, trying his best to remain standing tall even as his legs turned to jelly, his knees trembling and sweat cascading from every pore. The atmosphere was penetrating to the core, the tension thick enough to slice with a knife. The Frenchman bore under this treatment for several more minutes before the Administrator voiced her displeasure.

"You failed."

It wasn't a question. It was short, cold and to the point, very typical of the woman in purple sitting before him. There were unspoken undertones to those two simple words and the Spy didn't even have to think to pick them up: 'Your team has failed in a spectacular fashion but right now I hold this blame on you. They will be dealt with in due time but in the present I will see you suffer. You were the one most involved and the one who I entrusted this to the most.'

The masked man didn't bother with excuses, he didn't bother begging for mercy or for understanding, didn't even try to explain or make smooth assurances that the deed would be done. He just looked back at those impossibly cold and dark eyes, doing all he could not to shrink back or betray his voice as she stared back, expecting a response. She received nothing, the man remained silent. A stalemate. Just as he was about to crack under his gaze, she spoke again, tapping her cigarette on an ashtray, leaving it there to burn as she linked her hands together and leant forward.

"Because of this...error, I will be forced to deal with RED and BLU over this..."

She paused, as if searching for the right word before her eyes bored into the Spy once more:

"...termination of contract. In one month BLU will engage RED once more. One way or another, this will be the end of both RED and BLU. Do. Not. FAIL ME AGAIN!"

The air was sparking with electricity, the temperature having dropped countless degrees, the sheer seething hatred pulsing from the Announcer, breaking the Spy's resolve once and for all, the man cowering before her boundless wrath, heart pounding and twisting and gasping. For him and the rest of his team, the punishment had yet to even truly begin...

The last RED knew the odds, he knew he had essentially no margin for error. Teufort could be furious, a constant struggle at close proximity where the slightest misstep by any single member of the team could cost the rest of them everything. Without a team...he'd be forced to improvise. He leant back, taking a short breather from his frantic work schedule to rest and recall, planning his next job even as his mind wandered...

He remembered countless conversations with the men he'd worked, dined, fought, slept, celebrated and died with. No matter what the odds in the past, no matter what new tactics or weapons the BLUs had thrown at them, their teamwork had shone through. Even as you thought you were alone, separated and vulnerable, you were bound to be saved in your time of need, to be aided by your own guardian angel...be it a Soldier falling from the sky, a precision shot from the Sniper, the sudden decloak of the Spy, the roar of a Heavy or the muffled cries of a Pyro springing out in ambush...

He owed his team everything. Even as his eyes slowly drifted shut, his raging spirit and protesting body arguing over his right to rest, he could almost see and hear them in the workshop with him. His team. His friends. His family in this hellhole of eternal war, of death and rebirth.

His eyes opened with a start, quickly scanning over the featureless white void he found himself in. His mind tried to process this but was interrupted by a cry of "Over here, Herr Engineer!"

Not daring to believe it, he got to his feet and turned around to see the Medic waiting for him, performing a little bow before gesturing to a hospital bed besides him.  
>"Sit here bitte, you are in need of a little examination. I must check that ze stress and trauma hasn't impaired your ability to fight, ja?"<p>

The Texan just blinked with confusion before doing as he was told, not even trying to make sense of it all. He did, at least, try to strike up conversation with the German doctor even as he snapped on his gloves and prepared his tools.

"Uh...doc? Not to be rude or anythin' but...aren't you, well, dead?"

The Medic didn't even pause in his preparations or raise his eyebrows at the strange question. Merely humming to himself as he searched for a proper needle to take a blood sample before answering.

"For a fellow man of science, you are slow on the uptake. Perhaps you are more shaken up then I thought. Now hold your arm out, zhis will only sting for a second."

Before he could protest, the German had gripped his right arm and plunged a rather large needle into it, slowly drawing out the blood, ignoring the grimace of the Engineer's face.

"Ah, danke. Now, where we were? Oh yes, you might want to sit up for this, my hard-hatted friend." The Medic said with a chuckle, releasing the blood into a vial and swirling it before stashing it away in a cupboard that had materialised out of nowhere. His features became deadpan however as he turned back to address the bewildered man.

"Engineer, I am indeed dead, as is the rest of the team. But as long as you live and remember us, we will never truly die. You face impossible odds and won't have me to keep you alive. When you awaken, search under my bed, you should find a box containing information regarding the Medigun. It will be locked, the key to unlock it is hidden in a hollowed-out copy of 'On the Origin of Species' by Charles Darwin on my bookshelf. I believe a man of your intellect should have no problem adapting it to aid you against the dummkopfs of BLU?"

A pause, a hand on the poor Texan's shoulder and a shift to a gentler tone.

"Zhis is hard for you, I know. But before I send you off the rest of the team, I want to give you a piece of advice. In my years as this team's Medic, for all that I've relied on my patients to protect me, there were countless times where I was separated from them. Fleeing and regrouping is often the sane choice but it is predictable. BLU will expect you to act in certain ways, relying on your machines. Surprise them. A Soldier doesn't expect syringes in his eyes or a saw to the arm when chasing a helpless doctor, BLU won't expect an Engineer with teeth."

A savage grin and his gloved hand reached for the Engineer's, pulling him out of the bed to his feet. He looked over the Texan approvingly, noting the fire in his soul, the last RED almost glowing with drive: drive for revenge, drive to survive, drive to get to the bottom of the mysteries of the 'why?' and 'how?' that had plagued him since this mess had begun.

A quick nod of understanding and a soft utterance of "Appreciated, doc" and the Engineer found himself sitting on the roof of Teufort, a beer in one hand sitting alongside the Sniper. Less taken aback this time, he merely cracked open the can and sipped from it, enjoying the silent company of the Australian, who likewise simply grinned and leant back, drinking from his own can calmly, the sun reflected in his aviator sunglasses.

A gentle breeze, the stirring of water below, time passes. Eventually there is a gentle sigh and the marksman turns to face his friend.

"I ain't gonna lie to ya truckie, you're in a right sorry situation here. Wankers made it so I can't watch your back when you go out there but I do have a lil' somethin' to help ya with your payback on them BLU buggers, mate."

Something about the way the Sniper said it or maybe the gleam in his eyes but the Engineer couldn't help but snort and smile in amusement, raising a questioning eyebrow. The Australian returned with a toothy grin of his own and then told him. The silence was instantly shattered with howling laughter from both men, causing nearby birds to fly off in alarm.

It eventually subsided and the Engineer made a single passing remark with a good-natured chuckle before the scene shifted once more:

"Son, I don't think 'piss' even begins to cover that crazy plan o' yours."

The sights and sounds of Paris (for there was nowhere else it could have been) were brought to his senses as the smell of freshly baked bread hit his nostrils and the sight of the suited man at the table in front of him registered.

"As much as I would love to show you the sights, labourer, we have pressing business to get to."

The Spy certainly looked all business and even in death masked his fondness of the Texan with his arrogance and fake annoyance. The Frenchman sipped from a glass of wine, savouring the flavour for but a moment before he retrieved a slim folder from a briefcase under the table and passed it to the Engineer, who felt very out of place in this outdoor restaurant in his messy overalls and construction gear.

He quickly glanced through the papers as the Spy continued with his usual air of self-importance.

"Because some members of this team always suspected the possibility of foul play, I have over time amassed a great deal of intelligence from both RED and BLU that were never meant to be seen. In zhe unlikely event of my death, I have safeguards protecting zhis information zhat will destroy it and any other incriminating evidence should anybody feel the inclination to snoop through my personal belongings. In your hands, dear Engineer, is how to circumvent my protection and reach the documents I have risked life, limb and reputation to secure...even going through the indignity of posing as a woman and seducing a rather disgusting excuse for human life to obtain some of those files."

The Spy stopped to spit on the floor and light up a cigarette, the revulsion very visible on his features as both he and the Engineer shuddered a little at the thought.

"Needless to say, zhat man is dead and you have zhe great honour of being entrusted with my secrets. Don't let me down, Monsieur Engineer, or should I say, Monsieur-"

His real name, uttered for the first time in years, a remnant of his life before RED. The Texan spluttered in surprise, as the Spy merely rolled his eyes as if to say 'I am a Spy, knowing everything about everyone is my job' before the smug bastard cloaked and slipped away, leaving the American to slowly recover and finish reading the document before the restaurant faded away.

And so this continued, the last RED meeting with each member of his team, who would have advice, information or encouragement to share with him.

The Scout was for the first time quiet and serious, giving instructions on the fastest routes from one base's intel room to the other, how to avoid enemy attacks and how best to lay traps to catch the BLU Scout. When the Texan questioned him on his sudden change in attitude, the old Scout he knew flared up, puffing his chest out and insisting that he just didn't want the 'old man' to go and get killed without anyone 'as awesome and good-looking as me' around to save his bacon. The Engineer took the boy's sudden defensiveness in good humour and was taken aback when the runner stopped him from leaving, tears in his eyes, asking for him to pass on a message to his Ma back in Boston. A promise was made, hands were shaken and the stakes rose ever higher.

The Soldier was as loud and bold as ever, barking orders at the Texan and insisting that the man get into shape on the double if he was to have any hope on the battlefield, streaming out a bunch of mostly useless or misheard quotations. Most of the man's advice was useless but a few key points regarding elevation, the element of surprise and the BLU Soldier's likely tactics seemed useful. For all of the Soldier's usual insanity and criticisms of the Engineer, he did relax a little and pat his teammate on the back, commending the man's progress so far ('You did good, son, real good. Make me proud') before giving a salute. For the first time, the Engineer felt compelled to return the gesture, pride and determination swelling within him as he left the military man behind.

With the Pyro the words were hard to understand but the meaning was clear. In death they still refused to remove their mask or suit, clinging onto their obsession with fire and their often childish nature. The Pyro saw the fire blazing behind the goggles of the Texan and acknowledged that the man shared the same easily visible flames that flared in the Pyro's eyes, beyond the lenses of the gas mask. A shaking of hands, a light-hearted smack to the back, a sudden hug, followed by some muffled sobs and advice he could only just understand before the suited firebug was waving goodbye. A strange friendship had always existed between the pair and for all their differences, for that one glimmering moment they were strangely connected. Who they were or what the past was didn't matter, there was only the screaming inferno of their hearts and the ironclad resolve to succeed.

In the foggy highlands of Scotland, the Demoman was strangely sober, or at least less drunk, as he addressed his fellow defensive class. Alcohol and stories were exchanged alongside tactics, chemical compositions of explosives and how to best exploit the many properties of certain detonations to the Engineer's advantage. Perhaps they had a wee bit too much too drink ('Look, laddie, I swear to ya I saw Nessie out there wearin' some poncy-arse dandy hat wit' feathers an' a fairy on top') but either way, the pair made progress. The last of the proud highlander Demomen line conferred his family's secrets in bombs, booze and swords to the last of the REDs before the mist overtook them both.

In the frozen landscape of Siberia, a lone shack stood, resisting the fierce winds and snow, protecting the two men inside as a roaring fire kept them warm. The Heavy gave his encouragement ('Leetle baby man do well for someone so tiny. Entire team rely on you, make Heavy and Sasha proud!'), reluctantly shared some minigun design specifications of his with the Engineer and after munching a Sandvich slowly in deep thought, pointed out some weaknesses of the BLU Heavy and Medic when they had fought at Teufort in the past.

And finally the team stood together for one last time. No words were said, nothing more was shared. There was no need. They simply smiled, looking an as the Engineer smiled back without his trademark helmet or goggles, allowing them all to see his features properly as they faded into the distance, waving and calling out their best wishes to him. His team were gone once more and now there was only darkness.

No, not darkness. No, his team was not gone. He bowed his head, strapping his goggles back onto his face and securing his helmet to his head before he straightened, standing tall in the void. His team were alive: they were in his memories, in this base, in his hands and in his heart. He had once had hands of iron, he'd then gone to sleep with hands of steel. But now?

He would arise with hands aflame, fists that could forge any path he desired, a force that could not be stopped. No time to bleed, no time left for regret or remorse, only time to move ahead. The flame that had driven him before was no longer a spark or even an ember. He had a fever, he was a city alight, a blazing inferno burning out of control...

His eyes opened, his body was rested, the fruits of his past labours surrounded him. He slowly rose, refining his plans based on new information, saving his memories of those eight other mercenaries that he'd never forget. He glanced at his work so far and the time he had left before he picked up his wrench once more.

To Engineer is to take reality and to bend its laws to one's will, to construct a solution for any problem you could face. To be an Engineer in this war is to protect and defend: not the intelligence or the control points but those most important to you. To be The Last Engineer...

He still had work to do.

He still had problems to solve.

He still had his own destiny to make, a route blasted through the barriers of fate with nothing but fire and steel in his bare hands.


	8. The RED Demon

**Author notes:** Originally this chapter was going to be a lot longer and go much further but, well...things took longer than I expected and I decided to break things down into more chunks. This should mean more chapters, more frequent updates and an easier job at writing for me (in theory) than if I tried to keep the battle to fewer chunks. Also, I'm going to be placing additional author notes at the bottom of the chapter for things that are best discussed after the chapter has been read. I may just move all notes to the bottom in future.

_**Chapter 8: The RED Demon**_

BLU team waited in their respawn as the Announcer counted down, a mix of emotion between them. They had each individually endured their own horrific punishments, some taking weeks to recover whilst others hid their pain underneath confident smiles. Here was their last chance: at redemption, at victory, of finally escaping this endless bitter war. All they had to do?

Kill a single man. Secure the enemy intelligence. Simple.

But there were doubts. The Spy and Engineer in particular were uncertain if it would be as easy as it seemed. At first glance their team should be able to steamroll RED: it was nine against one, their enemy was hardly a master of direct combat and his death would be irreversible, whilst the mercenaries of BLU merely out of the action for a short while, after which respawn would allow them to jump back into the fray.

But in this war, if there was anything these men knew, it was that things were rarely as they appeared. Technology beyond anything else the world had ever seen, a system that could allow you to cheat death, secret bases, ghosts, teleporters, haunted swords, weapons that defied reality...

The Announcer finished her countdown and the doors opened, leading to their resupply room and beyond that, the rest of their base and the battlefield beyond. BLU charged, each member yelling their unique battle cry, the whole team heading to the battlements regardless of their normal route, all to see the poor, brave soul who would fall before their might.

The Last Engineer was silent, lost in thought, his face set in grim determination as the Announcer's voice passed over the battlefield and through the bases. He had done all he could, he had spent his time tirelessly working towards this day, his only chance to avenge his team, to unleash his fury upon the world. His eyes blazed, his heart pounded, and his fists were clenched. There could be no regret or remorse, only the drive, the will to survive and succeed, for one man to stand tall against many and win.

The doors opened and the Texan darted forward with more agility than he was known for, sharply turning left, then right and screeching to a stop on the Sniper deck as he glared at the BLUs on the other side. Both teams halted, taking each other in as the sun shined down on the two bases, the light gleaming off the RED Engineer's robotic left arm as he held it by his side, trembling slightly as the BLUs simply stared at the man before them.

His tattered and bloodied clothes had been replaced but this was probably the last thing that caught their eye. Upon his back was what resembled a dispenser, glowing with energy as it bathed its creator in a serene glow and beneath it, strapped directly to his back at an angle was a longsword like no other, a blade forged by the union of the will to destroy and the will to create: the unity of Demoman and Engineer, hardened with his tireless resolve. His left arm was a masterpiece of machinery, heavily plated, flexible and menacing as it pointed at the BLU team. Where he used to wear a rubber glove on his right hand there was now a reinforced gauntlet with a display and buttons built into the back, the purpose of which was a mystery. Upon further inspection his entire body was reinforced in some way, strange armour-plating merged with his normal attire, a mechanical exoskeleton enhancing his durability and strength. Massive boots carried thrusters in their soles, capable of boosting jumps, movement speed and reducing both fall and splash damage. His helmet looked much the same but seemed to be made of a tougher material and had bits and pieces patched onto it in odd places. His goggles were as dark as ever but held a computerised display within them, giving the Engineer a HUD and other vital information. Beneath those goggles, those eyes held rage, they held sadness, a desire for vengeance and the forever burning will to carry it out.

The last RED spoke out, his voice reaching over the battlefield with ease, vibrating the air with its tranquil fury:

"BLU team, one month ago you took my world away from me. One month ago I fled, a shadow of a man caught up in his own sorrows and pains. One month ago, your attempt at destroying RED failed. It failed completely, because those eight other men are with me, as much a part of me as the heart that beats in my chest or every drop of electrified blood in my body!"

His robotic arm suddenly shot up, scattering light as it did so, one finger pointing at the mercenaries opposite him. His blank face changed, a fierceness like no other taking over his features as his quiet voice became a booming roar.

"Use all the bullets you want! You cannot kill me, you cannot kill my team, you cannot stand against the retribution that will descend from the heavens! For I will slay each and every last one of you, again and again without the slightest pause! You'll wish you could simply die and weren't resurrected to face my wrath over and over, you'll pray for an end..."

Silence. A breath. His hands clenched into fists once more and for the first time, despite the distance between the bases and the goggles on his face, the BLU team saw the raging supernova in his eyes, the eternal flame that seared and pulsed through him.

"I'm not just a man, not some mortal who'll die with a shot to the head or a knife to the back! I'm not some mere Engineer or a mercenary who can be swayed through money or fear! I am nobody's toy, I am nobody's prey, I am nobody...that anyone should DARE to fuck with ever again! Come at with me if you wish, whether you are armed soldiers or the masters of the world or even Gods! So be it, send your armies, there's not one thing that can stop the SHEER ROARING SPIRIT OF THIS ONE MAN! For I am JUSTICE! I am REVENGE! I am RETRIBUTION! And I...AM THE GODDAMN ENGINEER!"

With that final incensed battle cry that seemed to shake the earth itself, the red demon leapt into the air, sweeping his left arm out, hand extended as plates shifted away and a concealed chaingun thrusted out of his palm, already spinning. Before BLU could even move or gape in surprise, the mercenary had cleared the gap between the bases in a single bound, falling towards the battlements as the weapon his left arm had become span, spitting firey death from the heavens above with high-calibre incendiary ammunition at an incredible rate of fire.

The Heavy could only watch in pure shock as he saw his team fall all around him, his body aflame in pain as the enemy Engineer landed to one side of him with a mighty thud and a small dust cloud, the man already getting out of his crouch, his chaingun having stopped firing for a brief moment. The Medic cried out in pain, causing the Heavy to whirl around and drop his weapon, cradling the German who was barely standing, bleeding fiercely, his labcoat burning. The Heavy knew that the Medic was about to die and that respawn would pick the doctor and his other teammates up but that part of him was ignored by the instinctive urge to see to the Medic's safety.

His back was to the Texan as the last RED reached for his primary weapon, a devastating double-barrelled shotgun that sparked and crackled with energy. His eyes took in the scene, the dead or gravely injured BLUs all on the floor from his charge, except the Russian and his doctor, who he held in his large arms. There was no emotion, merely the sound of him cocking the mighty weapon, the Heavy turning slowly to find twin barrels poking into his broad chest.

There was no smile, no pity, no remorse or some witty one-liner. The Engineer fired, bracing himself for the incredible recoil as a deafening boom filled the air, the sound akin to the hammer of Thor himself crashing down from the heavens with thunder and lightening. The whole world seemed to be silent, the Heavy and Medic nowhere to be seen, only a massive scattering of blood, dust and smoke even suggesting that there had been something resembling human bodies standing there previously.

From the corner of his eye, the red demon noticed a corpse fade away and his ears twitched to a distinct sound of the Dead Ringer deactivating behind him. He dropped his weapon, knowing it would take too long to reload, reaching for the sword on his back even as the BLU Spy's knife was driven by a steady hand into his back...

The contraption on the Engineer's pack sparked as the blade made contact, electrocuting the Spy and temporarily disabling the backpack, the knife falling to the ground as the BLU writhed in agony, stumbling backwards. Without any change in his movements or expression, the Texan unsheathed the sword with only the slightest noise, the fine blade whistling as it cut through the air, cleaving the Frenchman's head from his shoulders with only the slightest resistance.

The swing completed, the red demon flipped his grip and thrust the blade to the other side, twisting his entire body as he did so, impaling the Sniper who'd stumbled to his feet with a Kukri raised in his hand. A surprised splutter from the Australian, blood flying from his mouth as he gargled, eyes rolling back. With a sharp tug the weapon was wrenched from the BLU's limp body. A calculated flick from his wrist followed by a small rotation of the blade itself and the sword was cleaned of any blood before it was returned to the sheath on his back.

The Level Four Dispenser (LFD) on his back beeped back into life, providing its master with the benefits of the Medigun and a portable level three dispenser along with the defensive utility of a Razorback once more. The last feeble beats of the wounded BLUs faded as he stepped over their bodies, making his way into their base. The whole affair had taken less than half a minute in its entirety, most of the mercenaries downed within mere seconds of his surprise charge.

But from here on, things would only be more difficult and the real battle had yet to begin. He had used the temporary overdrive in his chaingun and boosts combined with the element of surprise to perform that slaughter, briefly boosting the fire rate of the concealed weapon and the thrust output of the footwear to allow him to crush most of the BLUs in a single swoop. His chaingun, whilst having a respectable standard rate of fire, greater accuracy than any minigun and a chance of alighting his foes with its unique ammunition, was not without downsides. The Heavy's standard minigun had a greater damage output and while the Engineer didn't need to concern himself over ammunition as long as the LFD functioned, his concealed chaingun was liable to overheat if fired too long or during overdrives, meaning he'd have to use careful bursts of fire from it for a while to help it cool down.

His almighty shotgun, Vengeance, was lethal to anything and everything at point-blank range but was slow to reload and less useful at range. It had an alternative firing method that was more accurate, firing one shell at a time instead of both at once, but the issue of its incredible recoil meant he had to brace himself for each shot else be blown backwards from the force. He'd reduced recoil within the weapon's design as much as possible, but a careless shot could still potentially break his arm or shoulder.

Yes...when BLU respawned he would have difficulties. For all his work in building a powerful defensive frame and having the LFD granting him vastly accelerated healing, he was still vulnerable to concentrated weapons fire and was very much mortal. BLU wouldn't be underestimating his own combat capabilities anymore and he wouldn't have surprise on his side. They'd be more cautious, more likely to get the first shot, more likely to force him to retreat temporarily.

He turned round the corner, casually dropping a small pod that unfurled itself into a mini-sentry as he ran towards the intel room, reloading Vengeance and reverting his chaingun into his left hand for the time being. BLU would respawn any moment now. They would know what to expect from him...mostly. A sudden smile graced his features, melting his frozen face as he chuckled to himself, heading down the spiralling slope to the basement. He still had tricks up his sleeves and if they thought they could just race into the RED base whilst he was gone...by hell they'd have another thing coming to them!

In RED base, all was silent...if one was to ignore the beeps and whirs of the countless carefully placed sentries that littered the base and the sewers along with the occasional dispenser, each gun placed strategically to cover each other sentry. Parts of the floor, upon close observation, seemed out of place, actually pressure pads to activate traps. Motion sensors hidden in the walls and hidden cameras observed every opening into the base and key areas beyond. Within the ceilings flammable gas canisters and jars lay in wait for anyone foolish enough to enter. On the battlements, small holes in the wooden walls suddenly became alive as stock sniper rifles poked out, shifting their angles as the gazed out at BLU base, ready and waiting.

Elsewhere, assorted mobile drones came to life, moving out, climbing up walls, hiding behind barrels, darting into the sewers, activating stolen invisibility technology or laying down sticky bombs concealed within their bodies. Simple, small machines each with their own purpose and limited AI, linked to each other and the device embedded in their master's gauntlet, feeding data into their master's goggles.

An array of traps, hazards, machines and specially-modified sentries and more awaited the BLU team, the RED base a nightmarish deathtrap. The results of a genius working without rest for a solid month with an amazing array of resources and information, driven by his teammates. He'd raided intel, stolen unreleased or scrapped projects from HQ, modified blueprints and constructed the weapons that would see him to victory.

Not the weapons HQ had tested, evaluated, re-evaluated, tested again, argued over, signed legal documents over then eventually pushed past the bureaucracy to the mercenaries with some downgrades out of fear of what the insane teams would do with true destructive power. No. He had worked without limits, refining existing ideas, combining traits, creating new elements from scratch and all the while as he worked remembering two things: the people he held so dear and the last instructions he'd gotten from the Administrator...

"DO WHATEVER IS NECESSARY TO WIN"

He'd do more than that...he'd do more than just carry out her simple games, fetching briefcases like some trained monkey. He'd do more than strike unending fear into the hearts of the BLU team, more than crushing their spirits under his righteous fists as he wrought vengeance upon them.

He would unleash the demon within. He would do the impossible, break the unbreakable, end the unendable eternal war. The mysteries would be solved, two corporations would be dealt with and a woman with the world in her grasp would be confronted.

The Showdown had begun, the RED Demon was unleashed.

**Author notes:** This one was hard to write and there a lot of things about it that I'm not happy with or went different to what I had originally planned but the general ideas for this chapter remain intact. This and the next few chapters are the ones I've been thinking the most about ever since I started this fic, so they've undergone a lot of changes when I've been planning them. Hopefully the Engineer's speech wasn't too long or unbearable, I was trying to capture the powerful energy and emotion he felt but was unsure if I was able to capture it and the chaos afterwards correctly.  
>Don't worry, things will be a lot less one-sided and more interesting next chapter, where the battle truly begins.<p> 


	9. Warmup

**Author notes:** Shortest chapter we've had for a while. Things are building up slowly, some of the Engineer's traps are brought into light and the whole thing probably causes more questions than it answers. I apologise if this seems to be lacking in quality, I was unsure of how best to write this chapter and combat is not exactly my forte.

_**Chapter 9: Warmup**_

BLU team respawned, rage and disbelief visible on their features for a brief moment before they moved, dashing out of the respawn room. The Scout, Sniper and Spy headed towards the battlements, the runner leaping onto the bridge and sprinting to the enemy base, the masked man dropping down silently and fading from view and the marksman stood at the ready. The Sniper knew he wasn't much help indoors and with the enemy in their base it was best to wait until the bugger either got to their intel or tried to make a quick escape. Then he'd be ready, a precision shot would be dealt and this whole mess would be over.

A little chuckle at that thought before he looked down his scope to the RED battlements where the Scout had run to. It felt so strange, not having the other Sniper there to duel with, not hearing their gunshots crack and boom over the battlefield. A sudden high-pitched scream erupted from the enemy base, sounding suspiciously like their Scout. He lowered his rifle in confusion for a moment, but that moment was all he had as the familiar boom of a sniper rifle sounded and he was dead.

The Heavy, Medic and Soldier ran towards the spiralling slope that led to their intel, whilst the Demoman, Engineer and Pyro instead headed to their right from respawn, into the ramp room. The sound of an alerted sentry, the Russian's grunt of pain, the whirring of his minigun and a rocket from the Soldier. The mini-sentry was destroyed and the trio headed downstairs, the Medic alternating between the two men as the American charged on ahead of the lagging Heavy. In his earlier days with the team, he had focused mostly on healing the Russian giant, arguing that the Heavy was the most logical choice to overheal, to Übercharge and to use as a human shield. Later on he had...other reason to wish to stay close to the man, but he'd pushed his earlier mistakes aside and recognised the value of latching onto his other teammates when needed. And with a mostly unknown threat, the value of keeping both men at top health became all that more important.

The mini-sentry had never been intended to do serious damage, only to delay anyone choosing to take the same route the Engineer had and it had played its part well. "The enemy has taken our intelligence!" The Announcer screeched over the loudspeakers as the RED strapped the briefcase to the LFD on his back. A beep and small notification in his goggles told him of the loss of the mini-sentry, meaning he couldn't escape the way he came into the basement. The Texan instead ran to the stairs leading to the ramp room, where the other BLUs lay in wait.

The BLU Engineer, heard the announcement just as he'd managed to get a level two sentry up and a level one dispenser, his nest positioned in the top corner to fire at anyone who left via the stairs or came in via the ramp room. The Pyro was at a loss as to what to do with no Spy to set aflame and not wanting to lead an attack when the enemy was still in the base. So the pyromaniac merely waited by the buildings, flamethrower at the ready. The Demoman had finished placing stickybombs around the entrance to the stairs, ready to detonate.

The sound of footsteps charging up the stairs before slowing and pausing for a moment. The beeping of the BLU sentry as their Engineer stood at the ready, wrench held in the Gunslinger. The Pyro looked on expectantly, finger twitching by the trigger. A grunt and the RED Engineer darted forward, covered in smoke as the stickybombs were detonated. In a blur of moment obscured by the dust and shrapnel, he rolled and leapt down, tossing something towards the sentry even as its bullets rocked his body.

A spinning motion and his left arm was up, deflecting the bullets with only a slight grunt of pain as he stood his ground, body trembling under the assault. The Pyro leapt down after him, landing in front of the Texan, spitting fire with a muffled cry. Even as the first flames licked at the RED, setting him alight and contorting his face into one of rage and pain, his right hand swung up into position, Vengeance in its grip. The briefest moment to steady himself, both against the knockback caused by the sentry and the recoil that was about to rip through his body.

The grenade he had thrown into the Engineer's nest went unnoticed in the heat of battle, the short fuse running out at the very moment he pulled the trigger of Vengeance. Twin explosions, one of fire and scrap metal, the other of thunder and blood, the remains raining down onto the ground as the smoke cleared. The RED demon glowed for a moment, the flames vanishing. Shrapnel had caused a small cut in his strong jaw but the bleeding quickly ceased and the wound vanished. Bathed in the healing aura, he put his shotgun away for a moment, turning around at the sound of the Demoman's battle cry as the Scotsman leapt from above, Eyelander in both hands as he brought the haunted sword down in an overhand chop.

The RED leapt back just in time to avoid the blow, the cyclops already lifting the blade once more and charging, this time with a horizontal slash. The steel of the sword met the reinforced metal of the Engineer's hand, both men sweating from the exertion as the two struggled for dominance. So intent on this struggle was the BLU that he didn't notice his foe's other hand reaching for the blade on his back until it was too late. A thrust and the resistance faded, the Demoman's remaining eye wide and staring as the Eyelander fell from his hand. The RED gripped the weapon embedded in the Scotsman's chest with both hands and pulled, again taking the time to flick the blood off before he sheathed the sword once more.

The Spy was cautious in entering the RED base, uncertain of what to expect. He took slow steps, pausing every so often so that the Cloak and Dagger didn't run out. Upon entering the front of the base he'd found sentries placed in addition to strange machines that lay near them. He crept towards one, about to put on a disguise, to uncloak and lay waste to the machines with his sappers when something suddenly shivered in his spine. He looked up to see a familiar jar falling from the ceiling. He opened his mouth to curse and found himself drenched in urine, his cloak failing and his eyes widening as his foul words were choked back down his throat with the unspeakable fluid that washed over him. Before this had truly registered in his mind any further, two sentries locked onto his now visible form and fired, unleashing hell in the form of bullets and rockets onto the Frenchman.

The group of BLUs still alive at this point, the Heavy, Medic and Soldier, quickly realised that their enemy had gone the other way to escape and laid waste to their teammates defending the ramp room, as the bloody carnage that lay before them testified. Knowing that even with the Engineer slowed down and possibly wounded he was still ahead of them and faster on his feet, they nonetheless ran through the ground floor of their base towards the exit regardless. The Medic kept an eye on his ever-rising Übercharge meter, trying to fight down the feeling of unease that crept into his mind as they approached the exit. So preoccupied were the trio that none of them noticed the small figure in the shadows suddenly flicker into appearance, silently extending itself to full height and soundlessly ending the doctor's life.

The two men didn't notice the German's body falling onto the ground, a knife embedded in his spine, so intent were they on getting to the RED base. They thought nothing of the sudden stop in healing, the two men running side by side merely thinking that the Medic had turning the Medigun to the other. The Soldier was normally faster than the Heavy but had slowed down his pace to make the job for the German easier and to keep the three together. It was only when a gunshot fired and the Heavy fell behind him, a hole through his skull, that the American noticed he was alone.

"Heavy! Doc? MAGGOTS! I need someone here on the double, that's an order!"

His voice quickly shifted from shock and pain to his usual confidence. He wasn't sure what had happened to his two allies but BLU would regroup and attack together, ensuring that that damn Texan didn't escape alive. But his confidence faded, standing there in the open as silence greeted him. Just as he was about to move on and attack by himself, rocket launcher at the ready, he heard the unmistakeable sound of a decloak.

"Spy! Glad you had the guts in you to make it, unlike those other-"

The Soldier was unable to finish his comments about the Frenchman showing different traits than normal and the cowardice of his team, for his eyes had rolled to the back of his head, his helmet had fallen off and he'd collapsed, a knife still fresh with the blood of another buried into his back.

Within the RED base, the Engineer carefully made his way through the trapped base. Whilst the sentries wouldn't fire at him, and several of his traps that relied on motion sensing were overridden by a transmitter hidden in his helmet when he was nearby, many traps would still activate if he made a wrong move. He'd memorised his placements and thus knew where to avoid stepping, when to duck under an invisible tripwire and so on. As such, whilst his movements weren't slow by any means, it was certainly a lesser pace than he'd set in getting here. He'd received reports from his machines and drones of the deaths of the BLU Scout, Sniper, Spy, Medic, Heavy and Soldier.

The Scout had been able to avoid sentry fire using a can of Bonk only to be punctured by a spike trap and then exploded with rockets when the Bonk wore off. The Spy had triggered one of the countless Jarate traps the Sniper had suggested setting up and promptly been torn apart by dual sentry fire. The Sniper and Heavy had been expertly exterminated through a certain...long-range defence of the base, whilst the Medic and Soldier had been taken care of by one of his more devious ideas.

Some of the team would have respawned again by this time and BLU would probably get themselves into a strong offensive formation to charge again, to unleash the furious attacking strength they were known for. Whilst the RED grinned at the thought of their offensive attempt, and the carnage that would ensure, he knew that each time they died they would learn more. They would be able to eventually make progress into the base, they may even discover the cause of some of their stranger deaths or even how to best confront the Engineer himself. With each death he bought more time for himself, time to run, time to heal, to reload Vengeance, to cool down his chaingun, to give commands to his drones.

But now, as he entered his base's basement, turned round the corners and carefully placed the briefcase on the table alongside RED's intel...

Right now he could taste the sweetness of victory, the first point of the battle his. He had a long way yet to go but right now this small success filled him with hope. Hope that he could somehow pull this off. Hope that he could win. Hope that he could do his team proud.

Hope that...no, he'd think about that more if and only if he won here. His other plans would have to wait until BLU's defeat. He still had work to do. With that thought in mind he turned to leave the intel room, barely noticing the Announcer abandoning her normal tone and cackling with glee.

"You have secured the enemy intelligence."

This was just the beginning. BLU had yet to see what he could really do, yet to comprehend what they faced and what this was really all part of. What he'd learned by reading the intel and what the Spy had left behind for him, his own suspicions and thoughts...

One way or another...

He'd bring the light to the world, he'd reveal the truth with the fire and lightning surging through his blood! He'd show BLU...the Administrator...those idiot Mann brothers who started this feud...even that insane Australian, Saxton Hale...

The world would see, the world would know. The secret war would be no more, this Engineer was just warming up!

**Author notes:** Yeah, so we're still not seeing too much combat and BLU still have to take things up a notch from the look of things. The Engineer is only directly responsible for three deaths this time, but if you still think he's overpowered then keep in mind that yes, despite all his upgrades and his burning spirit, so far he's been using his brain throughout his battles.  
>In Chapter 8 he used the element of surprise and unleashed two overdrives: one for his chaingun and one in his boots, to wipe out BLU. In this Chapter he did kill the enemy Engineer, a level two sentry, Demoman and the Pyro but he did so swiftly whilst the detonation of the stickybombs caused reduced visibility, chaos and confusion. The grenade he left behind was enough to destroy the sentry, kill the Engineer and likely wound the Demoman, who was close to his own detonation as it was anyway. He sustained damage from the sentry, and dealt with each BLU one at a time rather than having their combined might upon him. Had the Demoman not been wounded when he attacked, he could have possibly overpowered Engie with the Eyelander.<p> 


	10. The Impenetrable Fortress

**Author notes:** Got another long chapter here, I believe this is the second longest chapter so far. We passed from 2011 to 2012 where I am whilst I was writing this, the fireworks sorta distracted me from the writing...between that and the late time this may have some errors I haven't been able to spot but everything shouldn't be too bad.  
>A few mysteries are touched upon a little more, we get to see some more of things from the BLU perspective and I end the chapter on an...interesting note.<p>

_**Chapter 10: The Impenetrable Fortress**_

Each member of BLU team was in the main resupply room, a mixture of panic and fear on their faces. Some spoke of suddenly being killed without warning by an unseen attacker, others spoke of a hidden sharpshooter, of the hell that awaited them in the RED base and of the enemy Engineer himself. Everyone, from the slow Heavy to the cocky Scout had waited for the entire team to be alive before they rushed out again.

Perhaps they wanted to wait and build a better offensive or maybe to voice their fears, to test the waters with their teammates before admitting that they were scared, that victory suddenly seemed far less certain. It took the Soldier roaring at the top of his voice and a clanging of his shovel on his helmet to silence the other men, subdued by the aggressive behaviour of the American, who immediately set to pacing about the room, insisting that "Not one of you sorry excuses for mercenaries leaves this room until we have a plan!"

The BLUs knew they had little time to prepare and thus things became efficient after that, with the Scout and Spy speaking of what the two of them had been able to see before dying and the Engineer theorising on what possible hazards could await them. The Sniper commented that the enemy appeared to have another sniper and that he'd be on the lookout to ensure that the Engineer hadn't suddenly gained additional allies. The Pyro's muffled words were mostly not understood or ignored, much to their annoyance, whilst the Demoman provided some reflections on what he'd noticed before being killed by the RED.

The team made their way towards the enemy base, clear plans forming between them. The Scout was to act solely on reconnaissance for now, using his already considerable speed and a can or two of Bonk to avoid damage. This task would be shared somewhat by the Spy, who would also look into disabling any traps if possible. The Sniper was to watch their backs from afar, trying to find any of the mystery allies the RED had seemed to somehow gain. Their Engineer was to provide a forward base of operations to fall back to and lick their wounds before renewing their push. Demoman, Soldier, Pyro, Heavy and Medic were to form the main offensive force.

There was some argument, especially considering that this left their own base practically defenceless but it was ultimately agreed upon. The RED was unlikely to be able to escape the base easily with all of them outside and they would be alerted rather quickly if he did find a way past them. It was decided that they should be able to hear him even if he somehow got to the sewers past his own traps, as moving silently in the water below the bridge was quite difficult and that with all the water. Even so, they'd send the Scout into the waters below and back to their base in-between recon attempts to ensure the enemy hadn't slipped by them undetected.

The RED Engineer made his way to the battlements, unsure of whether he'd be able to make a dash for the enemy base as the BLUs had taken longer than he'd expected to mount another attack. His question was answered in the form of a highly-accurate, high-calibre round to the head from the enemy Sniper. He stumbled back, wincing as his head shook from the impact before quickly regaining his senses and darting out of sight before the sharpshooter could get him again. The reinforced helmet of his meant that he could withstand otherwise lethal headshots but damn if they didn't hurt like hell.

As if in sympathy, the device on his back increased its output, the warm mist of healing vapours easing the pain and any injury caused to his skull. There was a stampede of feet and he knew the BLUs were coming. Whilst he could leap off the battlements now and face them head on, this was not the wisest course of action. True, he had taken the whole team out using a thruster and chaingun overdrive but that had been when they were startled. His chaingun had cooled down sufficiently but it would take a while before he could engage any overdrives again.

A frown and a slight growl. Some furious tapping of buttons on the device embedded into the gauntlet on his right hand and he retreated back into the base, hearing the distinctive voice of the other Engineer as he built a dispenser. When he had the element of surprise, chaos in the air or took them on in small groups he was more than capable of crushing the BLUs. But against all of them when they clearly had a plan? That would be difficult. No, he'd have to wait it out, trusting in his devious defence mechanisms to hold them at bay, biding his time until he could find an opening. A grin. This could work.

The BLU Sniper was saved only by his quick wits and experience, dodging to the side and out of sight just as the round punched a hole at head height into the wall behind where he'd been standing. He'd been expecting an unseen enemy this time and there were few battles that had taken place at Teufort where things hadn't devolved into Sniper duels. The difference this time was that it wasn't his RED counterpart. He didn't have a clue who it was, he'd not seen anything on the battlements apart from the Engineer earlier and yet he'd clearly been shot at and the origin point of the shot was definitely the RED base's battlements.

Just to be certain, he stepped out and quickly scanned over the battlefield, trying to find his mystery attacker before hastily stepping out of sight again. No shots were fired this time but he wasn't going to take any risks by sticking out his neck too long. Pulling the scope to his eye again and trying not to let the unusual circumstances faze him, he looked over his team, who appeared injured and were falling back to let the Medic and the dispenser heal them. Quickly bringing the rifle up to the enemy sniper deck once more, he noticed a strange flash on the wall before he slumped down dead, a clean hole in his head.

This fact was not lost on the BLUs as they prepared themselves for their next push. Those shots had definitely been from the RED base. The Soldier back-pedalled, aiming at the battlements and firing rockets blinded at any attackers who might be there in the hopes of wounding them. He was disappointed to hear no cries of pain but from the sound of things he'd probably caused some damage to the battlements themselves. The American decided not to dwell on it for now, he had to reload and lead his men on in the next push.

The Scout, for all his usual stamina and speediness, seemed worn out. Dashing into RED base, dodging multiple sentry guns, rockets, spikes and who knows what else then trying to escape with his life, all whilst trying to keep all that information in only to then sprint back to the BLU base and ensure all was well? Exhausting didn't even begin to cover it. Still, his information seemed to be helping and whilst they'd so far only took down a single sentry that was very close to the entrance, it was still progress. He wasn't exactly pleased with his task but if it meant his team could clear out everything so he could bash the hardhat's skull in? He could deal with it.

The Spy, for all his usual caution, was being even more careful than usual. He hadn't gotten much further into the base then anyone else had. Partly because he was moving slowly to conserve his cloak and partly because he was spending a good time observing the ground before he made each step. The Frenchman was starting to notice which parts of the floor were actually pressure-sensitive plates that were merely well-disguised and truth be told, considering the last time he'd been here had ended up with him soaked in..._that_, of all things...

Well, he wasn't going to be in a rush to find what the other pressure plates did. He'd also never admit it but he was getting quite nervous. Several times the sentries had paused when he passed by as if they'd somehow noticed him before they continued. And one modified one in the distance had actually locked onto him and started firing until he took a step back and darted out of the way, despite his apparent invisibility. It would seem their foe had found a way to detect his cloak and had upgraded several of his sentries with this ability although thankfully this didn't seem to hold true for many of them. He silently begged that none of the traps had been made to trigger on detecting an active cloak.

The Spy took a careful step forward before suddenly freezing, a great terror gripping him even though he was unsure why. He was positive he hadn't stepped on any...oh. At waist height there was a red beam that had suddenly flickered into existence, the usually invisible laser tripwire broken by his body. There was a sound of moving gears on both sides as well as above him as hatches opened. He looked up and once more wished he hadn't. This time though, it was not the jarred urine of an Australian that caused his brain to break, unable to think of even a single good expression to utter in dismay. The jarate had been the warning. This was the real deal.

That was his last thought before his mask was instantly turned into ash and blasted away, his face melting sickening off his already darkening skull. In moments there was no trace of the Spy besides his burnt remains, the incredibly high-temperature burners having done their job. They burned for but a moment more before they disengaged and retreated out of sight once more.

The Demoman was not pleased. He'd been able to bounce his grenades around the corner to destroy a second sentry based on the Scout's directions only to find himself and the rest of the attacking members of the team coated in a yellow liquid that had fell from the ceiling. It took him a moment to make the connection as it had simply cascaded down rather than be dropped down in a jar but when his mind put two and two together it was already too late. Stickybombs that were not his own rolled to his feet and detonated, killing the Scotsman and wounding his retreating teammates.

The RED Engineer resisted the urge to laugh, his goggles and embedded gauntlet PDA revealing all. Whilst the BLUs had been able to destroy a mere two unmodified level three sentries that meant nothing. They were still unable to make any real progress inside. He'd seen the Spy burning himself during one of his attempts to escape. Unfortunately downstairs towards the main exit or the sewers was still too risky to use as long as the BLUs were attacking or with the Scout running by. Their Sniper had fallen earlier but he was unable to go out via the battlements as at the time the offensive force of BLU had been outside by their Engineer's nest, licking their wounds and ready to attack again if need be.

This was a cause of annoyance, as was the stray rockets from the Soldier that had damaged his Sniper defence. The carefully calibrated machine controlled Sniper rifle hidden within the battlement walls wasn't the most quick or efficient defence in the world, much unlike the actual Sniper. It could take quite a while for the limited AI to be ready to take a shot as it wouldn't fire unless it believed it had at least a 90% chance of scoring a lethal hit. The damage caused by the rockets had blown apart some of the wall, increasing the mechanism's vulnerability and the damage appeared to be slowing its processing.

Still, on the whole the BLU Sniper was a minor threat. He was out of range of his other defences, true, but the Texan was also out of the Australian's sight most of the time. The main danger caused by the Sniper would be that the Engineer would be severely slowed down or even stunned by the BLU's attacks, potentially leaving him vulnerable should another BLU attack.

In any case, he would wait a little longer. In the meantime, he set about strengthening his innermost defences, placing down additional sentries, preparing teleporter entrances and exits and making minor tweaks to modified buildings.

It was a horrible stalemate. The BLU team liked to believe they were making process but the true weight of their task eventually sunk in after half and hour of combat, barely any further ahead with their offense than they had been. They'd discovered dispensers with rotating flamethrowers, strange devices that could repair other buildings, spikes, electrified parts of the floor, hidden guns in the walls that shot poisoned darts and countless other weapons that had killed them before they'd even realised their fate.

The Scout had found himself awake in respawn several times after having been merely patrolling the BLU base or in the sewers, a horrible pain in his back. The Spy found that several sentries were able to detect him when cloaked and not even the unmodified buildings appeared to be fooled by his disguises. The Sniper had some small success, recognising the glint at the battlements as a scope and realising that the enemy had got some automated defense using a sniper rifle. Despite that, he had been forced to move from their own battlements and stay with the rest of the team near the front lines as he'd been killed from behind somehow whenever he took his scope to his eye.

The Medic was feeling particularly disgruntled, having been killed by RED stickybombs just as he was ready to unleash an Übercharge and make some real progress. Heavy was becoming increasingly enraged by the whole ordeal and the apparent cowardice of their foe, who none of them save the Spy, Sniper and Scout had even managed to catch glimpses of. Pyro seemed afraid, mumbling something about what was either "the vengeful dead" or "hungry for bread", most likely the former.

The whole team was sick of barely moving, of dying over and over, of being killed by unseen foes, of their enemy being just of their grasp. It was becoming increasingly tempting to just have the whole team rush forwards but that was tactical suicide. Any progress made would be quickly lost as they would likely all die and this would be the chance for the RED Engineer to escape by them.

Little did they know it, but it was already too late for that.

The RED Engineer moved carefully through the water, choosing to make the dash from the RED sewers to those of the BLU team when there was enough noise about to mask the sound of his escape. One of the downsides to his combat frame was that it severely hindered movement whilst swimming and it was actually easier in this instance to hold his breath and run underwater to the other side then attempt to struggle across.

It had been risky, but worth it. He'd seen that their Sniper had set himself up with his back to the wall of the BLU base, on the ground rather than the battlements, keeping an eye on things. Their Engineer had been getting restless, Frontier Justice at the ready, so that route was out. Whilst going through the base was dangerous, the Spy had recently gotten too close to a modified dispenser, the Scout had been killed by one of his drones and BLU had been pushed back by a combination of sentry fire and tossed stickybombs from another of his unseen drones. He'd been able to dodge all of his traps on the whole, only sustaining minor damage during his sprint to the sewers.

Whilst his building wouldn't attack him and he knew the pressure plate locations by heart, some traps could still be triggered. To get past any that were caused by motion sensors or laser tripwires he'd normally send a brief signal to disable them. He'd decreased the downtime to a few scant seconds considering the close proximity of BLU and whilst he'd been hit by some shrapnel from the enemy Demoman's grenades bounced around the corner and had some poison darts strike him from his own defences...he'd escaped fairly unscathed.

The darts had mostly rebounded off his more armoured sections and those that had scored direct hits were being countered by the healing effects of the LFD. Whilst in the past he'd been somewhat unwilling to leave his defences behind, he was fairly confident he could leave the base unattended this time around. His traps were well-placed, to the point that he could potentially have trouble getting past some of them and so far for all their destructive power BLU had yet to even get to the ramp room. Their Spy would once have been his downfall but his modifications would cause hell for the spook. After studying the Inviswatch blueprints he'd been able to detect the presence of cloaking and whilst he hadn't been able to integrate the ability into all of his buildings, enough of them had it to cause enough issues.

Repair nodes would slow the offensive might of the Soldier, Heavy, Pyro and Demoman as well as knock off any sappers the Spy might somehow be able to place. On the normal sentries he'd activated an override that disabled their usual friendly fire checks, causing them to target all mercenaries regardless of colour, making the Spy's disguise kit near useless. It could still admittedly be used to leech health from dispensers...but everyone was covered by the sight of at least one sentry and most were upgraded with a flamethrower defense. It was an obvious trap, the dispenser acting as bait and the flamethrower preventing the Frenchman or anyone else coming close.

It was simple but could cause a lot of turmoil, especially on any occasion the Spy found himself with a poison dart digging into his skin and too little time to return to his team. It was a truly evil way of doing things, as was a lot of what he was doing, truth be told. He'd specifically designed his defences to inspire fear, to give them despair, to strip away hope of progress and to humiliate them.

He'd ensured that every member of the team had been coated in the late Sniper's excretion at least once, relishing the recorded reactions and knowing that somewhere else his team would be roaring in laughter over it. His droids were designed to help fulfill roles he could not do by himself, providing useful information and skirmishing capabilities whilst destroying the BLU's morale. They still hadn't uncovered the cause of many of their deaths and believed he had additional help.

Well, it was partly true. The droids and several defenses that had been styled after his departed teammates, in memory of them and in acknowledgement that certain gaps in the battlefield had to be filled. The small robots were capable of moving at good speed, climbing onto walls and ceiling and had their own specialised capabilities. One used stolen Inviswatch and disguise kit technology to remain invisible without cloak flicker and was capable of projecting limited holograms. Another was suited for recon, capable of great speed, limited flight and stunning foes. And finally one had a regenerating supply of explosives in the form of stickybombs.

Perhaps the BLUs would figure it out. Their Sniper had eventually destroyed the long-range defence, which could be considered a much more limited device with similar purposes as the others. Maybe they would put two and two together and they could possibly even find some way of striking back against the small, unseen foes.

But that did not matter.

Not when the RED demon was in their base, laying down sentries, mini-sentries and teleporter exits. He was heading for the intel once more, thinking all the while. There was a chance that after respawning the Scout would bump into him when checking the area. A problem. Getting back into his base, chased by the BLUs and having to avoid his own traps? A much bigger problem.

"...but in the end, problems don't matter. There ain't a problem I can't overcome, not now."

A spoken thought, quiet and measured as a gauntleted hand rested on the team-coloured briefcase. The mercenary took a deep breath and shut his eyes for a moment before they snapped open once more, dancing with flames.

A blur of motion, the briefcase just another burden on his back, a voice calls out from the loudspeakers as he runs and nine enemy mercenaries roar in disbelief, preparing themselves. Mere details, not truly worthy of his attention, not at this point in the time.

Beeps, notifications, a savage smile full of white teeth, a storm brewing. There was no obstacle he couldn't overcome, no enemy that could stop him, no force in this world he couldn't bend to his will if required.

Soon, BLU would realise that. Soon, RED and BLU, Mann co, TF Industries...none would matter. Hell was to be unleashed and these little games would cease.

He'd grown tired of this, of not being able to use his full potential, of being bound, of being another one of the Administrator's dogs. He'd grown tired of being careful around the BLUs, of having to plan and rethink and strike only at opportune moments. He'd grown tired of this long, bloody, pointless war.

It was time for change. It was time for vengeance. It was time for all hell to be truly revealed to the world!

A dangerous crackle of energy, a powerful buildup, systems ready and waiting to release it all:

He was fully charged...


	11. Retribution

**Author notes:** So, I wasn't exactly about to leave everyone hanging on the cliffhanger of last chapter. I was intending to write this chapter as soon as I could, partly because I wanted to do so anyway and partly because that ending was pretty evil of me to do. Originally this chapter was going to include pretty much everything in the next chapter as well but this was getting long enough that if I continued the end result would be large and hey, I wanted a break. This chapter raises enough chaos and confusion on its own, let alone what the ending of the next chapter would've brought had I included it here too.  
>Anyway, I've got college and exams coming up very shortly so time will probably be very limited on my end, making updates few and far between. That being said, I'm going to try and find the time to write and update when I can. I should be able to at least start, if not finish, Chapter 12 (it should be a fairly short one) in the next week or so. Now we return you to your scheduled fanfic.<p>

_**Chapter 11: Retribution**_

Above the twin bases, beyond the battlefield, high above the woes and conflict of mortal man there was only the heavens and beyond them the infinite majesty of space. It was ironic that the sky above Teufort, a place of countless bloodshed and deaths, was normally a deep and tranquil blue. The weather was rarely anything other than warm, clear and pleasant regardless of the time of year, as if mocking the pain of the struggling men below.

Today this was not so. Clouds had been brewing during the battle and now there was a veil of darkness cast over the bases as thunder rumbled and lightning crashed down not too far away. BLU stood by their Engineer's nest in front of the RED base, ready to unleash their arsenal on the lone man who even now ran to meet them. The mercenaries ignored the freak weather, too caught up in their own emotions, the feelings of helplessness, the anxiety, the rising anger, the will to survive, to finally escape...

Lightning crashed once more, striking the bridge between the bases with alarming force, destroying the roof and sending smaller chunks of wood flying off in all directions as larger, more stubborn pieces hit the ground and water with their own great impact. The heavens growled with fury, as if this entire random act was annoyance at being ignored. The surprise soon wore off, the men of BLU finding their hearts still beating as they resumed their ready stances, casting their eyes past the now settling dust and fading smoke.

Nine pairs of eyes met a single gleaming set. Standing in front of BLU base was their target. Perhaps they were over-eager to get this ordeal over with. Maybe they had been too distracted by the freak storm or they simply weren't paying enough attention. Regardless of the reasons, they didn't notice the distinctive crackling of power and the sparks that accompanied it of a full charge. With a laugh that would haunt their nightmares forever if they ever slept again, the RED demon reached back and flipped a switch on the LFD.

And with that simple motion, the world vanished in pure light and hellfire.

The prototype design the RED Engineer had integrated into the LFD was one that combined elements of both the standard Übercharge and the Kritzkrieg, to grant invulnerability and terrifying power for a brief period. The downside was a longer charge time and no healing was done by the medigun element during the charge, relying solely on the dispenser for healing. Whilst this was a great aid in and of itself, he'd seen potential in the design far beyond what either team had ever seen before.

The Medic's notes held a tantalising possibility. Early experiments had determined that overbuilding the charge beyond the normal limits required to initiate an Über could bring powerful results, but was highly unstable. As such, the medigun was limited to prevent overcharging by limiting capacity at 100%. The Engineer had found a way to stabilise the buildup of energy and more importantly, a way to best utilise it. Simply increasing the duration of the Übercharge was not enough, a waste of the potential he had seen.

His own Overdrive system for the chaingun and his thrusters were useful, but not as powerful as they could be and the LFD itself...overdriving the LFD had so far proven to drain too much energy and had left the contraption in need of repairs when he'd last tried. But if he used the excess energy of the Übercharge...

Captivated by the power an Über-Overdrive would bring, further research was done into some of the stranger weapons the mercenaries had used, such as the Soldier's Banners, which somehow converted rage into firepower or defensive bonuses for nearby teammates. He had no idea why TF Industries and Mann co hadn't expanded on this ability to harness emotion but he, however, saw fit to exploit this to his full.

The result was untested, he'd barely had time to test the regular Übercharge, let alone his masterpiece before the day to meet the BLUs in combat had arrived. He'd passed 100% a long time ago in this battle, saving the charge for when he needed it most. And so it had ever so slowly grew, eventually peaking at 200%. He'd had his doubts about even attempting to use the Über-Overdrive as he had no idea if it would even work, let alone the exact effects it would cause.

But when he'd noticed the charge percentage, the crackling of power, the possibility that lay at his fingertips...it was impossible to resist. And then, standing there outside the base, the entire enemy team there, blocking his escape, ready to tear him to pieces...

He flicked the switch.

The world vanished and he felt a bestial roar escape his throat, seeming to echo across eternity, causing ripples in the white void that filled his vision. The ripples expanded, colliding and suddenly shattering the nothingness, replaced by burning hellfire, forked lightning and a surge that racked him to his core. His body wasn't trembling, he realised, it was vibrating, soaked in pure destructive power, his mind unable to even begin to comprehend the impossible mix of fire and lightning that surged through his blood, contorting his very soul.

He felt his heartbeat grow more erratic, his body pushed far beyond mortal limits, his mind ready to slip away into darkness forever. But...he couldn't just give up this easily, could he?

The countless memories of his fallen comrades flashed through his mind. He remembered the world outside the pointless fighting, the innocents who didn't realise the entire world was under the thumb of two major corporations. He thought of his team, of the laughter they had shared, of their smiles, of their cries of pain as they died over and over.

With an almighty cry he flung his arms outwards, the darkness fleeing from the passion of the RED demon. He'd built this damn thing and he wasn't about to be controlled by anyone, let alone his own creation! He'd drawn on emotion for power but rage and despair was not the answer. He'd built this for revenge, yes, but beyond that he held a greater goal.

He wanted the war to end. He wanted to see RED and BLU gone forever. He wanted to be able to rest, to live his life in a tranquil world where he wasn't in the grasp of the Administrator. His desire was to be free! To be free of this war, of this battle, of the endless cycle of death and rebirth, of pain and suffering!

The world returned to him as his heart burned with a bright light, the light of hope. Hope for the world, for a better future, for an end to this madness. It blazed with love. Love for the freedom he'd be stripped off, of the men who'd fought and died by him all these years. And it exploded with the need to end this, to avenge the dead, to strike divine justice from the heavens themselves and pierce the hearts of the BLU team with his revenge.

BLU team found themselves speechless. Some were frozen still, others had fallen to their knees and for many their jaws were loose, their eyes wide and their hearts pounding. They'd felt it somehow, a great influx of terrible power into the world, a sheer intense rage howling and clawing, the RED Engineer's struggle, his fight to remain himself and not be consumed by the darkness.

They too had lost sight of the world, felt the passion, the roaring unbreakable spirit of the man before them, the love he held in his heart, the will he would make reality. The clouds above parted directly above the glowing sphere of light that floated before them, the world becoming silent as the aura shrunk down to reveal a human figure rolled up into a ball.

The figure uncurled himself furiously in a single motion, arms and legs spread out as he hovered above them, head slowly moving its gaze other them. The impossibly bright aura of light had shrunk down into an intense red flame that engulfed his body as white lightning arced across his body. To the common eye the transformation was hardly drastic, as beyond the surging power that manifested itself around him, he was still clearly the RED Engineer.

But to stand before that presence...that was when the truth was revealed. Rationally you could tell yourself that he floated there in place above by the tremendous power output of the thrusters in his boots. You could say that the aura was nothing truly significant compared to the effects of an Übercharge. But you'd be lying to yourself, for there was something about the RED demon floating above that struck the very soul, filling you with resolve to do the impossible even as you found yourself overwhelmed by an unthinkable fear.

Something about his gaze under those goggles...perhaps it was how they blazed so furiously that his goggles actually shone, a light source in their own right. It could have been the slowness, the silence, the completely blank expression. Perhaps it was merely the fact that no matter how big you were, he'd always be looking down on you.

The Angel of Death, for there was no doubt that he was the one above them, flexed his hands for but a moment before lowering himself and raising both hands. His left blurred and became the chaingun they were growing to hate the sight of, whilst the space around his right rippled and the shotgun, Vengeance, appeared within his grasp.

There was no need for words, no need to even attempt to shoot back or to escape. The Heavy took a single step back, dropping his minigun. The Medic simply stood there, finger ready to release an Über but never moving. The Scout, Pyro and Spy fell to their knees. The Sniper and Soldier removed their headgear. The BLU Engineer simply stood there, back tall as he stared Death in the face, knowing that was to be their punishment.

Death had no need for such trifling concepts as precision or conservation of ammunition. He simply fired, not once worrying about having to reload Vengeance or overheating the chaingun. Death simply lingered in the heavens, spitting hellfire with one hand as the other struck them down with the very hammer of Thor himself. Each one fell with no resistance, each death causing the clouds to part a little more, a growing beam of light shining down onto the massacre below.

Whether by accidental twitch or intention was unknown, but the BLU Medic unleashed his Übercharge, bathing himself and the Heavy in the unbreakable BLU power. The weapons stopped firing the instant the charge was active and in mere milliseconds later the Angel stood before them, a blade glowing as he held it out before them, engraved within it on the visible side were eight red emblems that represented the fallen members of the RED team, whilst the mark of the Engineer himself was instead on the hilt itself. There was an inscription on the weapon but the Heavy found himself unable to read it for everything had suddenly started to go dark and he found himself consumed by an incredible agony racking his body and his very soul.

With his last moments he glanced down at the sword that had pierced past the still active Übercharge, into his heart and out the other side. With a lazy swing, the RED Demon flung the corpse off the blade with the ease one might swat a fly. The Medic was alone and found that the usual feeling of invincibility an Übercharge granted was very absent before the might of the being who looked at him. The doctor shut his eyes. Demon or Angel, whether it was raw revenge, divine justice or the passionate spirit of a man who had lost everything...the true form of his killer didn't matter.

Soon he too was a lifeless body on the ground, the power of the charge flickering away as the corpse settled to a rest. His killer simply hovered above them all, raising his sword to the heavens as if parting the clouds above. As if out of fear or loyally following a strict command, the darkness left the battlefield and the sun once more blazed overhead, shining down cheerfully on the bloodied mess that was Teufort.

With a final nod, as if his great task on this Earth was finished for now and his head moved backwards, shutting his eyes, the light fading from behind the goggles as the aura flickered and sparks started to fly from his frame. The energy suddenly vanished and the Engineer, a mortal man once more, fell to the burnt and bloodied ground below, body smoking and aching. He landed in a crouch with a grunt of pain and slowly stood to his feet, looking down at his hands, at what he'd become and what'd he almost turned into.

His thrusters coughed a little and his left arm creaked as sparks flew from the LFD. A frown, a careful step forward and he slowly returned to the depths of his base, his systems slowly returning to normal. He rolled the limb back a few times, checking diagnostics as the LFD finally spluttered back into life, easing the pain and covering him with the calm healing glow he'd been waiting for.

A sigh. A step. A small smile.

The briefcase was gently lowered onto the table and the Texan left it behind, a hard look set into his features. He'd shown them absolute despair, he'd given them justice and he'd had his revenge.

But there were still loose ends. BLU were broken, but still alive. He still had work to do. There was still a problem to be solved...


	12. Judgement

**Author notes:** Yeah, I know, I said there probably wouldn't be updates for a while. This chapter was begging to be done and I was able to find some time to get it done before things get too hectic on my end. So this probably will be the last one for a while, or at least the last one of this sort of length. I'm glad to finally get this chapter done although when you read it (and get to read the next chapter, whenever I can finally get to writing it) you may be...less glad.  
>In advance I will say that this is another chapter with a fairly evil ending, a few points may not have been put across that well and despite appearances, you'd best believe this story's anything but done yet.<br>_Edit:_ Just to clarify, this is **not** the last chapter, just the last one I'll be able to write for a while. I was hoping to start writing 13 sometime today (08/01/12) but alas, 'twas not meant to be. I'll try and find some time to get the next chapter out as soon as I can.

_**Chapter 12: Judgement**_

Wearily, the last member of what had formerly been RED team placed the stolen intelligence down, pulled up a chair and fell into a sitting position, limbs loose. He simply sat there, head down for a few moments before he properly inspected the LFD and consulted the device embedded into his gauntlet, inputting commands to his loyal drones. With a deep exhalation he dragged himself back to his feet.

Running around like this wasn't his job and this whole ordeal was punishing enough, even without becoming so drained from the hell he had recently unleashed. The Über-Overdrive had took a lot from him and hadn't come without its costs. Whilst the LFD still functioned, the medigun element appeared to be burned out and neither healing nor metal supply were at their normal rate. His overdrive systems also appeared to be completely unusable but apart from that everything appeared to be functioning fine.

It just meant he had some more bugs to fix after this battle, some major tweaks to make and further testing. For a completely untested function, it had performed beyond his wildest expectations and that it had left him so tired afterwards hardly mattered. He sincerely doubted that BLU would be in any mental state to put up a decent fight, let alone attempt to resume their attack on the RED base.

It would give him time. Time to reinforce the defences just a little more, to catch his breath, to think and to plan. The Texan tapped out his final instructions to his robotic servants, erected a few sentries to replace those that had been lost during the BLU offensive and took a deep breath, clearing his mind, before he stepped out onto the battlefield once again.

BLU were not broken. They were shattered, they were smashed, they were destroyed: broken did not begin to cover it. Nobody had left the respawn room yet and nobody wanted to. Some walked, some paced, some checked their equipment or attempted to look as if they were devising some strategy. Empty actions, as meaningless and hollow as their fallen spirits. Numbness and nothingness, movements that were based on instinct and habit rather than intelligence.

No words were spoken, for there were none that could be said. They'd all seen it, they'd all felt it. The mere power and presence that...demon had held, the way that he had slaughtered them so effortlessly and how helpless they truly were, with not even an Übercharge providing protection...

That in itself was something that could break the proud men of BLU, to know their strength and experience was so utterly and completely useless. But it was not this that ran through their minds. When it was unleashed, that demon...angel...whatever being it that held such power beyond that of any mere mortal...!

When it was unleashed, they felt it, they felt him. The RED Engineer. They felt his pain, they felt his agony, they felt his sorrow. His rage burned them, his strength humbled them and his very being had been there in its glory for but an instant for all to see. His heart was a kind one, one that had weathered and been beaten but refused to give in. For all his wrath and hunger for revenge, there was an element of his spirit that overshadowed it all, that stunned them with its beauty and intensity.

His love. The last RED loved his creations, their fate to be destroyed still striking him hard with every battle even if his stony face didn't show it. He loved the world, driving himself to take the steps that would allow him to build a brighter future. He even loved his enemies in this war, the BLU team, as only a rival could. He respected that they were in the same position as RED, he knew at their core that BLU were fine folks and he'd hoped that when the war was over they could all put the past behind them and drink together: RED and BLU.

Those positive feelings towards the mercenaries was almost entirely eclipsed by his hate, by his anger, by his mission. But for all the pain he wished them to suffer, a small glimmer had proven that he'd cared once, even if that was no longer the case. But it was not even his compassion for his enemy that had struck them senseless. It was his connection to the men he loved the most, those who had made up his entire life the last few years, the group of quirky individuals who had fought by him, supported him and died by his side.

RED team...everyone on BLU had their part in their murder. They'd felt guilty but justified afterwards and despite any bitter taste in the mouth after the job had been done, it'd never truly hit them. The Engineer's awakening after the Über-Overdrive had revealed to them his soul, his blazing passion and his unbreakable will. It had showed them better than any words could the consequences of their actions, the havoc they had wrought with their careless hands.

This was to be their punishment. Nobody said it, nobody had to. One by one, they gradually left the respawn room, moving into defensive positions around the base. There was no energy to their movements, no spark in their eyes. It mattered no if their enemy killed them again, if he beat them to death or had become so deranged by the whole affair that he'd torture them. It mattered not what he did now, for they were already dead, he had already won, they only pushed themselves into position as some action done on autopilot or some futile attempt at dying with dignity, to die fighting rather than crying.

The RED Engineer would kill them. He would not spare them. They would not escape their punishment. No words were spoken. Why speak what everyone knew? This fate was the one they deserved.

Everything was going according to plan. He'd encountered minimal resistance so far from the BLUs, who had been easy to confuse, mislead and otherwise avoid fighting directly. He'd made good use of flanking, retreating to lure enemies into mini-sentry ambushes he'd set up and with less dangerous foes he'd simply torn their bodies into ribbons with the chaingun or spread their insides over the walls with Vengeance.

Getting to the intel room had been easy enough. A carefully bounced grenade spelled the end for the BLU Engineer and his only recently constructed buildings. Maybe BLU wouldn't bother to give chase to him this time, knowing how pointless it was. Perhaps they would try anyway like the stubborn dogs they were. He hoped it was the latter.

He'd make them get off their asses and chase after the stolen intel. A long, circular route around and just outside of their base only to go back into its depths then to the sewers a few times...they'd click on that for whatever reason he was still about and they'd run. A savage smile. They'd all be alive, together and trying to protect their intelligence. A perfect opportunity he wouldn't want to waste. Soon this would all be over...

BLU didn't know what to make of it. The last RED hadn't simply absconded with the briefcase like they'd assume and almost seemed as if he'd gotten lost, going around in circles or popping up in places that were certainly not part of any efficient escape route. He hadn't shot at them at all yet nor had they encountered any surprise sentries whilst chasing him. Had they further presence of mind they would have likely identified that they were being led into a trap or they'd perhaps notice that nobody had been killed by the RED's unseen helpers either yet.  
>The team of mercenaries simply continued their chase, attempting to split up to cut him off only to end up regrouping later when their foe took another strange turn. They didn't notice the absence of their Spy or Engineer. How could they notice what their eyes saw when their minds were very clearly elsewhere?<p>

The Spy slipped silently through the shadows, the Ambassador tightly in the grip of hand as he pressed up against a wall. Stepping lightly, he progressed further into the depths of BLU's base. Here, beyond the section that was used during battles, was the various rooms such as the communications room that dealt with the functions of the base itself and its ties with Builder's League United and of course, TF Industries.

It was here he saw the light spilling out of a certain important room, the door left ajar. He knew what to expect and after bracing himself, darted in, pointing his revolver at the Texan who stood there with his back to the Frenchman, adjusting dials and levers with one hand as the other clattered away at a console of buttons. The masked man announced his presence by lowering the safety trigger and giving his trademark "Ahem."

Slowly, the man in RED raised his hands and turned to face the Spy. The Engineer's face was unreadable as the two men stared at one another, air sparking with tension. The man in BLU suddenly felt nervous and resisted the urge to lower his weapon or flee from the person who stood before him. He instead coughed and addressed the saboteur to cover his twinge of anxiety.

"So, Monsieur, we meet once more."

The last RED said nothing, expression blank, his mind unreadable even to the Spy, who considered himself an expert in seeing past such things. He didn't let the talk stop there though, he wanted to see if what he said next could elicit a reaction.

"Your use of robots to keep myself and my colleagues on zheir toes was quite ingenious, especially the one you gave zhe intelligence to and equipped with stolen Spy equipment to project a hologram of yourself. I'm sure my team will be most amused from chasing zhis decoy."

This got no reaction from the American, who merely stood there, not breaking eye contact with the enemy mercenary. The Spy sighed, adjusting his tie, before meeting the gaze of the Engineer once more.

"Even I was fooled at first, barely noticing the slight flickers or other problems with the disguise. Had my mind been...shall we say, more focused on zhe job, I doubt you'd have gotten this far. But, my dear labourer, zhis is where it ends."

At first, silence. But the mouth of his foe twitched, jerking upwards into a smile that became a chuckle. And that chuckle became a guffaw, which erupted into booming, derisive laughter. The BLU tried not to let his annoyance show on his features, brandishing the Ambassador at the laughing RED as if trying to remind him of the current scenario. The Texan eased a little but otherwise didn't seem concerned.

"Ah, pardner, y'all couldn't be more right about it being the end. But I think you're a might bit confused. You know as well as I do that this is all an act, or should I say, even more of an act than usual? Inside you're just as hopelessly lost as the rest of them, still unable to accept reality. Spah, you've been my bane for the longest time so surely if you know my lil' trick with the disguise then you must be able to put two and two together? Why I'm here, why your teammates are chasin' that bot of mine?"

The Spy's mind was still foggy, weakened from this whole experience and whilst he'd been able to control his state better than his team, he was very much shook up and emotionally unstable as the rest of them under his icy exterior. The gears moved, things clicked into pace and the lightbulb lit up with furious intensity. His hand lowered as he stepped back.

"A trap. You planned to kill us all one last time and for you to be here...you've tampered with our respawn?"

Another laugh, a savage grin and a gleam in those eyes that gazed through the Spy even with those dark goggles in the way. Confirmation. It was, the masked man would admit, a form of poetic justice, a fitting way to resolve matters. There were worse things he could have done to BLU, much, much worse for what they had done.

Still...even if they deserved nothing less, the Spy still wanted to live, to end this war and be rid of both RED and the Announcer, to return to France and be at peace for a while. With grim determination and a clearer mind he raised his gun once more, aiming precisely at the Texan's helmeted head as he took two steps forward and-

That second step had been a mistake. Around the corner, only now visible due to that extra step, there sat a mini-sentry. With all the usual buzzes and beeping that the machines of this room generated, he'd completely missed the tell-tale sounds of the hidden sentry. He stumbled back as bullets tore hungrily into his flesh, pulling his trigger as he did so, hoping his aim had remained true.

The BLU Spy fell backwards out of sight of the sentry, feeling very much like smacking himself as the bullet pinged harmlessly off the Engineer's helmet. If Sniper's high-calibre rounds hadn't penetrated the reinforced head gear, what hope had his of causing any real damage. He looked back at the RED only to find that the man was no longer laughing, blade drawn and at his throat.

Gulping nervously, he glanced down at the blade. He saw the class-emblem markings, the representations of the fallen men of RED team. He saw the fire that burned before him, the raging flames that took the form of a man. He saw the inscription in the sword, the words a bloody crimson jumping out of a background of forged steel. The colouring was caused by the blood of the BLU team, dried and forever staining the once pure message embedded in the blade.

Reading the words the man before him had wrote, his last thought was how fitting it was that the message should be revealed through the blood of the BLUs. He didn't hear the BLU Engineer's gasp from outside the door as he came in, he didn't feel his body become limp as it hung from the weapon that had penetrated his heart.

There was silence. The last RED casually dumped the Spy's body on the ground, letting the blood slowly drip off the blade as held it in one hand calmly by his side. Engineer faced Engineer, twin stares hidden under their eyewear as BLU gazed at RED, as the man with the mechanical hand faced the man with the mechanical arm. The Gunslinger was out, the glove that had covered it as of late missing as the fingers twitched. The transforming robotic limb, the Chain Armament, was held into a fist to one side.

Finally the one clad in BLU who had previously been the embodiment of engineered destruction, of building to destroy, spoke.

"...you did it, huh? Got us all where ya want us, got everythin' set up to finish it?"

A slow nod was the only response. Further silence. The interruption came abruptly, not in the form of further words or even action from either man but as a large detonation from afar. The BLU jumped before resuming his tense position, the RED merely smiled.

"It's done now, almost every last explosive I could find was used to ensure no survivors, my little drones did a good job. Sorry son, but this is it."

He raised the sword, stepping to the side of the fallen Spy's body, slowly approaching his counterpart, who made no move to resist or flee. The last BLU met the last RED's gaze and almost thought he saw something in those eyes, in the tone of voice...something beyond the fire, something else besides that impossibly bright flame that had consumed this man, had driven him to do what could not be done, to get his revenge, to honour his fallen team.

No more words needed to be shared. They didn't need to vocalise their thoughts, for in this moment of clarity for the both of them, they understood. The BLU didn't have to say that normally he wouldn't go down without a fight but that he'd make an exception. The RED saw no need to tell him that he'd do it quickly, that there'd be no pain for the other. Neither saw fit to express their relief that the desire for vengeance, the pain and the madness of being alone hadn't twisted the RED into a true monster. Thankfulness, for different reasons.

It was soundless, swift, clean and efficient. Mechanical, almost. The blade pierced the flesh, spilled blood, tore organs and ended one final life.

But before that spark had faded, before the weapon had been driven in, as the blade sped by, there had been a flashing of words. The Engineer had always been a fast reader and a quick thinker, so in those last moments as time seemed to crawl on by before his life was extinguished, he saw it.

The message bathed in blood. A tribute to what had passed and what had yet to be done. The single tear just barely visible as it escaped the bottom of the RED's goggles...

"The ultimate price. Forged in righteous fury to bring the world of tomorrow the rest we never received. Brandished in vengeance...to be sheathed only when the last problem is solved."

The Last Engineer cleaned the fresh blood from the blade, running one finger down the eight class emblems as his hand gripped the weapon tighter, the symbol of the Engineer visible on the hilt. The weapon was lifted and hefted onto his shoulder as he strode out the room. For all the engravings on one side, the other was bare, as if there was a side of the task yet to be planned, a future yet to be written in the fire and steel and blood and death of war...


	13. Redemption

**Author notes**: So, here it is, biggest chapter yet and one that may either cause you to wonder what the heck I'm doing or cheer out in joy. Sorry for the lateness, exams have started now and won't be over for a few weeks so things will probably be quiet around here for a good while. You'd have gotten this chapter earlier but the site appeared to be experiencing issues last night and I was unable to finish updating it.  
>As ever, thanks go out to everyone who's read so far, reviewed, or lent me a hand with my first story here in any way, shape or form. You people rock!...so try not to hate me too much for the sudden turn around of this chapter or any of my recent evil endings...please?<p>

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><p><em><strong>Chapter 13: Redemption<strong>_

A blurred image slowly made itself known in the BLU Spy's mind as he blinked, groggily waking up to find himself face down on the cold floor, body aching all over. He lay there, slowly waiting for his senses to recover and for his mind to make sense of this jumbled mess. A weak cough, soon followed by a chorus of groans, grunts and spluttering from the others.

Others? The Spy lifted his head, blinking again as the blurriness started to fade and his mind slowly pulled itself into a state less like sludge and more like a lean, mean, calculating machine. Of course, his teammates and himself were in the main respawn room at Teufort. For all of them to appear like this and to be in such pain...they must have lost their latest battle, the respawn after a round with RED was always more painful than during the conflict itself. Perhaps it was some punishment built into the system for failure or perhaps it was just the adrenaline no longer pumping and numbing the pain.

Wait...

The Frenchman suddenly paused as recent memories returned to the surface, his eyes wide in shock as he took in the sight of his colleagues all alive and mostly well around him. This couldn't be right; he'd seen the RED Engineer tampering with the machines in the belly of the base...surely their foe had disabled respawn. The team slowly got to their feet, some stumbling and others choosing to remain sitting for the time being as the worn-out BLUs tried to clear their minds and make sense of events.

Their attempts were interrupted by a loud cough and the familiar sound of a shotgun being cocked. Slowly the mercenaries turned around to face the transparent doors that led to the resupply room and the base beyond. Like deer caught in the headlights, they froze, expressions of shock etched into their features.

Sitting before them on a wooden chair, flanked by two level three sentries and directly in front of a dispenser, was the RED Demon himself. The Engineer smiled, the expression having about as much warmth to it as an Arctic blizzard. His eyes were firmly placed on them and Vengeance was pointed at them, a finger very ready and willing by the trigger, daring them to make his day.

They shivered and looked down to find themselves stripped of all their weapons, helplessly at the mercy of the man who had killed them again and again, inducing in them despair beyond measure. It was only the currently closed doors separating respawn from resupply that protected them from the sentries and the Texan himself. Needless to say, anyone stupid enough to venture beyond their current position would be torn to pieces even with their weapons.

The RED spoke at last, not bothering to hide his displeasure with the BLUs even as the majority of the team wore confused and frightened faces, if for different reasons. The BLU Spy and Engineer were perhaps the most perplexed, but all remained silent.

"It's about time y'all woke up. I know I'd set a pretty big delay on your respawn to give myself more time to prepare but damn if you weak cowards don't take your time getting up. Was very hard not to just end you all again there and then."

Predictably, the Scout was the first to break the stunned silence.

"Oh yeah big guy? Then why didn't ya?"

Further silence and the runner, realising that he'd essentially just begged the one-man army who'd so utterly destroyed them to kill them again. A small "eep" slipped through the boy's mouth, eliciting a harsh laugh from the cold Engineer who sat there watching them all.

"Why indeed? I could have kept that fight going, could have kept on killing you over and over until not a single one of you could even crawl onto the battlefield, too busy rocking yourself in a corner and crying your wretched eyes out. I could have, given you the ultimate taste of irony, sabotaging your own respawn to end your lives as permanently as you so casually did to the men who mattered most in my life."

A pause for breath, or perhaps something to cool the increasingly heated words spat from his mouth. He shut his eyes beneath his goggles and breathed again before snapping them open to pierce the BLUs once more.

"I could have done all that and more...but I didn't. That would be stooping to your level and it would be damned low. My team...wouldn't have wished it. And neither do I. I've had my revenge against you and to lose myself in the madness would be to betray my teammates. No...I still need you alive. I need answers."

A glance was exchanged between the trapped mercenaries, some of whom had become ever so slightly more relaxed and risked a shrug. The RED was no longer sitting, getting up and walking to the door that divided them. A snarl started...and died.

Turning away, the Texan bowed his head for a moment before raising his left hand to his head and stripping off the goggles he seemed to always wear. Blinking from the sudden change and aware of the silence behind him, he turned to face the BLUs. His eyes held anger, but it was dulled and didn't seem to be directed at them. Instead they saw the sadness, the question etched into his features.

"...why? Why damnit, why did you fellas have to go and do something like that? I know we're paid to kill each other but dang it if our little rivalry wasn't just that. We respected each other and fought by the rules. Why after all this time did you break contract? Why did you want to kill us off for good? Why the hell did they have to die! This ain't like you folks...I want ANSWERS!"

Tears flowed freely now, surprising the already flabbergasted BLUs. The RED clenched his teeth and shook his head before embedding his metal fist into the wall to his left. His head bowed again for a moment and he slowly removed his hand from the wall, crumbling the debris in his palm as he did so. His right arm tensed, the shotgun it held still beaded onto the enemy mercenaries as he strapped the goggles back on one-handed before his head raised once more.

There was no more anger to use against them, no longer any sorrow to shed. His eyes simply sought every last one of them out, demanding answers. One by one the BLUs shrunk back as if bitten. The Spy found himself trapped in the gaze and opened his mouth as if he wished to say something before he shut it again and remained silent. At last it was turned to the BLU Engineer, who struggled with it for a few moments before he pulled himself up to full height and looked his fellow Engineer in the eyes.

He quivered under the intense gaze for a few seconds before he had to break eye contact and he looked to one side, coughing a little before he prepared himself to deal with the RED Demon's request.

"...it was the Administrator. Not that our dumb hides weren't responsible but...it was her. She spoke of plans on the RED side to go behind the rules of engagement behind our combat scenarios, that you fellas were sick of the war and were willing to do whatever it took to end it. We...we didn't react well to that, I'm afraid."

The Spy snorted, finding his voice again, if only to interrupt the Texan.  
>"Didn't react well? Labourer, please, could you have possibly have understated it any further? As I recall zhis whole team of trained monkeys was in uproar, afraid and lapping up every word zhat...woman said. After all, RED's sentiments were ones we shared even if we had yet to act upon them..."<p>

The Spy's usual disdain for his team was by no means masked and eyes narrowed at the Frenchman's arrogant interpretation of events. The Heavy found it in himself to stand and pull the Spy up to his height, the Frenchman's feet dangling, looking the smaller man eye to eye as his own narrowed.

"Strange how leetle Spy speak bad of team for trusting woman, Spy was one who panicked most and lost usual cool. Was funny to see this, did not laugh at time, did not want to die from RED team. Very angry, would crush entire itty bitty team!"

The lone RED watched this exchange calmly and coldly, clicking his fingers to bring attention back to him and the matter at hand. The Russian dropped the masked man onto the floor, promptly causing the Spy to mutter curses under his breath as the BLUs turned their eyes to their Engineer once more. The poor Texan tried to pull himself together and continue his explanation. After all he'd done, he figured his RED counterpart deserved the truth and nothing less.

"The Announcer, as a neutral party, stated that she couldn't directly interfere in our battles but considering that RED were planning on breaking contract...she'd be more than willing to turn a blind eye to any plots on our behalf if it meant removing the rogue mercenaries from the equation."

The BLU laughed bitterly, caressing his Gunslinger as his eyes stared off into nothingness. The RED's eyes lingered on the artificial limb for a moment but said nothing of it, merely raising his eyebrows for a second at most.

"I of all people should have realised that she was playing us all like fiddles. Still, lost in our panic, our anger and our fear, the instinct to survive overcame any suspicions we might have had. With what little we already knew, some peeking at captured intel and some lucky breaks from the Spy, who had been able to break into TF Industries and secure some vital blueprints...we were able to construct a plan to disable RED's ability to respawn. Looking back on it, the essential documents we needed were probably planted on purpose and security had probably been lowered to aid our spook in securing them..."

"Not that any of that matters now, does it?" The Medic interjected, frowning. "It wasn't until after our plan failed and Herr Engineer escaped that we started to realise the truth."

The RED's brow furrowed at that but he said nothing, gesturing for the doctor to continue.

"I have been called mad before for some of the things I've done. Es ist richtig, I have committed my share of atrocities both before and during zhis war...but they all pale in comparison to what the Administrator has done. She doesn't just end lives, she destroys them. Laws, friendships, families...they do not matter to her. She'd brainwash a parent into killing their child in cold blood if she zhough it would benefit her!...I...I learnt that very early on during zhe...punishment each of us had to go under after our plan failed."

The German's face darkened at this and he gulped, unable to carry on. The Heavy laid a comforting hand on the doctor's shoulder. The two men gazed into each other's eyes for a moment, some hidden message passing between them. The Sniper, who had up until now been silently observing from his position, sat in one corner, chose this time to speak up, tearing everyone's gaze away from the pair.

"I didn't like havin' to do it, but a job's a job, it was never personal. Professionals have standards and everything pointed towards you RED buggers breaking those standards. I'm not the sort to be getting teary-eyed about the men I'm paid to kill, but I'd thought that you blokes were alright until then. Ya gotta understand, Truckie, she had surveillance footage of your team tampering with our bases, audio recordings of you discussing how best to deal with us, blueprints for torture devices for crying out loud! We didn't want to off you lot but pissing hell, we thought, it's the only way we would survive. It was you or us...law o' the outback, that is...Durin' the time we laid out the plan, sabotaging bases and leaving behind explosives...with no sight of foul play on your part, I got a might suspicious...but this only drove us harder, expecting your plan to be hatched at any moment. By the time I'd gotten my emotions in check it was too late to turn back and she'd even given us some experimental upgraded versions of our older weaponry to help us eliminate the threat. I suppose I-"

The BLU Soldier suddenly chose this at the perfect opportunity to leap to full height and resume his usual solution to everything: to bark out whatever was on his mind and fix objects or people under his glare from beneath his helmet.

"That bitch was giving us the proper goods, not any of the hippie guns we've been getting lately but our proper, bonafide weapons perfected to a standard we deserved! She held promises of sweet freedom, the thing every true American will die for. We had the chance to end those maggots on RED for good and we'd be given our due reward for our services, to be able to retire from the battlefield with honour and acclaim."

The ranting American, finding himself without his trusty shovel, decided to rap his hand on his helmet before he tossed the headpiece off, causing it to clang off a wall and nearly hit the Scout. He turned his unblinking gaze to the RED who sat silently before the broken BLUs.

"That woman...she's no woman at all but a filthy commie devil. Her lies have no place on MY battlefield in MY war...with her sweet talking and her promises, slipperier than any Spy..."

A pause, his head fell and for the first time in the history of the war, the man known as Jane Doe cried.

"She'd forced me against my best friend in the past, back during that damn Soldier vs Demoman war. The others got roped into it too but in the end it was just a ploy for me and Tavish to abandon what makes a man a man and to kill our friendship. And for what! Measly weapons and medals! I'd broken my unbreakable bond with a damn good man for that woman and by the time I'd realised it...it was too late for things to go back to how they'd once been. And now..."

His sobs grew greater, his body shaking as he fell to his knees, staring up at the ceiling as the tears streamed down his war-torn face. He'd promised that he'd never do something so weak, so pathetic and so emotional as crying. Crying was for hippies and women, he'd always told himself. He no longer cared.

"...that...that heartless, soulless, scum-sucking bitch made me do it all over again, to put my friend to rest forever and to end the lives of eight damn good men who...despite their damn commie colour scheme...had done no wrong, who had never truly been the enemy, who...under different circumstances...who...!"

The Soldier was broken and could not continue. A muffled sound made the presence of the Pyro known, gently placing the American's helmet back onto his head, sitting down beside the man and wrapping one arm around him. The asbestos-suited mystery looked up at the RED Engineer, obscured burning eyes meeting and connecting between them.

The exact wording of what was said was lost but the message was clear enough as the firebug finished the Soldier's unspoken line: "Who, under different circumstances could have been friends."

The Demoman, his eyes half open, muttered to himself, his body splayed against the far wall. "Doesn't matter now, th' devil herself cannae be stopped an' we're as good as dead already."

The Scottish cyclops made a motion to drink from his bottle, only to find his hand empty. Raising his hand to his good eye and confirming that it was indeed not in his grasp, he clumsily reached around him, trying to find the alcohol to drown his sorrows that simply wasn't there.

The RED Engineer could take no more. Leaving his shotgun behind him he stood up and swept his eyes over the sorry scene before him. The men that had once stood so tall, that had been so devastating in combat, were little more than husks ready to be killed. He half expected one of them to decide it wasn't worth the pain and leave the respawn area to be gunned down by the waiting sentries...not that it'd help them, he hadn't destroyed or even properly hijacked their respawn. He'd simply found a means to temporarily adjust the respawn times and ensure that their weapons didn't spawn alongside them. He'd used the time between to secure BLU base and ensure that even if a BLU somehow escaped, they wouldn't get far.

BLU were broken, they had received their punishment, they had tasted judgement and now they were empty, likely better off dead than alive...But enough was enough.

"You've done as I asked, and gave me what answers you could spare."

His voice, as quiet and calm as it was, immediately got everyone's attention. It was closer to what they'd expect from an Engineer outside of battle, closer to how their own Engie spoke to them...but not quite.

"...but, BLU team, I have a final question to ask of you."

The Demoman laughed at that before trying to stumble to his feet so he could walk over to the doors. He ultimately failed and had to make do with looking up at the RED from his position in a heap on the floor.

"Always with th' questions, aren't you lad? Not that it matters, we're all as good as dead and the bloody woman who yells at us when we fight has won."

The Spy cleared his throat and adjusted his tie, glancing around the room and sighing.

"As much as I hate to agree with the drunken wretch over there, he is correct, gentlemen. I suspect this whole ordeal was a coupé by zhe Announcer to gain true absolute power over the world. As much as she currently holds in her grasp, RED and BLU still have a more direct grasp on the world. By advancing the offensive and destroying RED she could then wrestle control of BLU from that senile fool, Blutarch, and become ruler of the world. It is likely that the only reason we were chosen over RED is because Redmond Mann was always more cautious and less likely to fall into her snare so easily. His brother was always more reckless, which certainly explains why we find ourselves attacking more than we defend."

The RED Demon hit a few buttons on his gauntlet, causing the sentries in the resupply room to deactivate, the sudden loss of their beeping only enhancing the silence. All eyes were on the man that had destroyed them so easily as he stood before them, the familiar fire building up within him, the air becoming thick with energy from his will. Whatever he was about to say would be huge.

The righteous inferno burned with passionate fury but for once, much to BLU's confusion, it was not directed at them. The object of the Texan's blazing contempt was the Administrator herself. He'd been wanting to deal with her anyway but this really sealed the deal. But one thing at a time, he had to deal with the sorry excuses for men in here first.

His hand was raised, free of any weapon and pointing generally at the beaten BLUs. His voice started even enough, but rose louder, and louder, becoming more powerful with every word to the entranced mercenaries.

"Tell me something, BLU team. Where are the men who were once capable of anything, somehow breaking past my best-laid defences and rapidly turning the battle around? Where are the men who were able to face my team head-on and live to tell the tale? Where are the nine best damn mercenaries BLU could find? Where are the mercenaries we could be proud to call our rivals? Where is your spirit, your will, your drive!"

They flinched as if struck but he was far from done with them.

"Don't tell me I did this to you, don't look away when I talk to you, don't just lie there and accept death. The nine of you, working together as a team, used to do the impossible. The nine of you, working together, are a force like no other left in this world. The nine of you...are about to be given your second chance, your last shot at redemption."

A pause, in part for effect, in part to ensure they were listening and were focused on him.

"What do you do when you are dominated, do you give up and let this jus' keep happening and happening? Heck no, you track down that poor son of a bitch and give them hell for it. Yet here we all are, we know who the enemy is, we know where they are and we all have plenty reason enough to unleash an eternity of hellfire upon the world if it meant a shot of vengeance, a shot of justice, of _payback_."

To this there was outcry, or rather there would have been, but somehow they all found their words stuck in their throats as they just looked at the Engineer, standing there, a proven force of nature in his own right.

"I don't want your excuses, your claims of impossibility, of how she's too powerful. I went from an injured, broken wreck into the driven man that tore you apart single-handedly. I found a fuel to cling to, a goal to shoot for, a reason to live. BLU team! I will storm the world once more, I will deliver justice, I will destroy that bitch, alone or otherwise! But this is your chance: call it a second chance, call it forgiveness, call it revenge or even just another job...I want the best by my side when I unleash my wrath unto the world once more. I want my eternal rivals there to live and laugh and be able to enjoy the peace we all wanted without this damn war! I want to be free and I'll be damned if you don't too, I can see it in your eyes, in your beating hearts, in every last drop of blood in your body, _screaming_ for relief!"

Their heads were raised, their eyes shined with what could have been hope and all around them the fire raged, consuming and twisting, a force of destruction but also one that brought light and warmth to the darkness of the world. The Demon grinned, his finger shooting to the heavens as he held his head up high and addressed them once more.

"Are you _dogs_ before her, willing to do her every whim? Or are you _men_, ready to fight to the bone for but a taste of victory? This is your chance of redemption, of making the eight men who couldn't be here swell in pride for your accomplishments. To live and make your mark or to die here at my mercy! That is YOUR choice and only YOURS! I beat you down to absolute despair with the intensity of my spirit and I will drag you back up, reborn as something new, something stronger! Your hands shall rust no more, for our reach as two teams united is beyond the stars, beyond the heavens, encompassing all of space and time with our _unbreakable_ wills!"

Not a single man wasn't standing, not a single one found themselves unable to meet the Texan's eyes now. Their expressions varied but within the depths of their eyes, the will of their souls couldn't possibly be clearer.

A hiss and the doors dividing the BLUs from the last RED separated even as the Engineer turned around to face the exit, lifting up Vengeance and hefting it over his shoulder, his left arm fell to his side, clenched into a fist as he continued, facing away from the nine others.

"One way or another, through death or through union, BLU team ends here! Divided we were strong but together we will be unstoppable, our spirits an untouchable fountain of resolve! Me...! All of you...! _Together_...! We are the mountain that cannot be scaled, the fire that cannot be extinguished, the warriors that never die! WHO IS WITH ME!"

The roaring of pure resolve, unified regardless of usual demeanour, of the past or anything but the future they would carve with their bare hands was what the RED Demon had been waiting for.

"So be it! WE! ARE! **TEAM FORTRESS!**"

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><p><strong>End of chapter notes<strong>: You thought BLU were dead? Bzzt, wrong. You thought things were almost over? I'm afraid not. You thought I couldn't give the Engineer another even more hammy speech to give? Also wrong. Things have still got a long way to go and now...now the mercenaries stand together as one.  
>Sorry if you were expecting the BLUs to have been killed off for good or anything or you see Engie's willingness to help them out of character but this is how its always been planned and it made more sense to me than having him kill his rivals for real without getting any answers or help in tackling the real problem out there.<p> 


	14. Rebirth

**Author notes:** Managed to find some time where I wasn't really doing anything, so I said to myself "I know! I'll write a small interlude chapter, a little break before actions starts up again". Naturally, that "small" chapter ended up being the second longest chapter yet. Yeah...that wasn't supposed to happen.  
>Ah well. Not much in the way of action here but considering all that's gone off as of late, that's understandable. I think the new Team deserves a little break, right? Updates will remain a case of "if I can find the time and I'm not one foot in the grave" for another few weeks.<p>

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><p><em><strong>Chapter 14: Rebirth<strong>_

RED team had been annihilated and BLU team had ceased to be. In their place was something new, something different, something...dangerous. The mercenaries had learnt very early on that in this war that you either stood united or you didn't stand at all. What had never occurred to them was that to truly stand, rather than kneel at the mercy of their employers, was that both teams had to stand together as allies rather than foes.

Nobody said it was easy, though. The ex-BLUs held an often chaotic relationship with each other even on the best of days, and with the addition of another Engineer, and the massive task that lay ahead of them, it was understandable that things weren't exactly peaceful. Insults were thrown around with increasing frequency and the quieter and more rational members of the team were becoming more and more irritated.

It wasn't until the Sniper's nerve broke and he pulled out a certain jar that silence fell upon the war room once more. The Australian was normally calm, quiet, and content to stay out of matters, but when he decided enough was enough...well, people sure knew about it. Needless to say, nobody felt like becoming the next target of his jar-based Karate. Medic, sensing the danger in the air and fearing a potential brawl, wisely decided to suggest that everyone should call it a night.

It had been a long day full of chaos, death, sudden turnabouts and revelations. They'd made some progress regarding their next steps from here, and how best to survive the backlash that awaited them, but with the rate things had been going it was clear that the night wasn't going to be productive. The quirky members of the newly formed Team Fortress went their separate ways.

The former RED walked slowly through the BLU base, stifling a yawn. The team certainly had their hearts in the right place, and was clearly full of energy, but they certainly were a handful to deal with. The members of RED could be much the same way but it seemed that the former BLUs were a little worse in that regard, or at least it took less to devolve into chaos. He was quite thankful that the Sniper and Medic had between them ended things before it could get worse.

It was understandable though, they'd gone through a lot, everyone had, and perhaps after suitable rest they'd be able to tackle the pressing issues with renewed vigour and some fresh ideas. He'd been able to disable some of the surveillance systems the Announcer used in the base but all the same, she'd know enough. It would only be a matter of time before someone would be sent to deal with them and there wouldn't be anywhere in the world truly safe for them when she realised what extent they were willing to go to.

The Team had to form a strategy if they were to survive. Teufort wouldn't remain safe for long and additional intel was sorely needed if they were to stand a chance at facing the power the Administrator held. Considering that, the need for supplies and to be on the go, the Scout had suggested that they simply hop from base to base, with the Demoman adding that destroying the bases afterwards to prevent them being used against them might be wise.

They'd have to be able to escape any forces pursuing them, find a way to the inner sanctum of TF Industries, destroy the company and break apart RED and BLU into smaller pieces. The threat of Mann Co, not to mention Saxton Hale himself, also needed to be considered and the Australian weapon company might have to be dissolved..._violently_.

The Texan wasn't really paying attention to where he was going as he lost himself in thought. Thus, it wasn't too surprising when he walked into a very large mass, then found himself on the floor as the Heavy turned around. The Russian merely chuckled before offering a hand to help the smaller man up to his feet. Of course, it was less of being helped to his feet and more having his arm almost yanked out by the giant.

"Leetle Engineer should keep eyes open when in base of old enemies, da? Would be bad to cause fight between comrades when we must be strong together. This almost happen earlier, not good...but doktor was great, stopped fight, told us to sleep. Is smart plan, you should do as Medic says."

The Engineer couldn't help but smile at the Heavy's simple, but accurate assessment. There was genuine warmth between the two men who not long ago were enemies. There was still some tension but on the whole the former enemies trusted each other and the Heavy in particular was treating him as if they'd been teammates all along.

"Sorry Heavy, was lost in my thoughts for a moment there. You sure said it though, if we're to stand a chance at pulling this off we'll need to put aside the past and our own little issues, focusin' on the big picture. I'm sure that tomorrow everyone will be a might bit better behaved, it's just been a tiring day for us all."

"Da, you are like other Engineer, always thinking all the time. I say you think too much, no good to get lost in own mind on battlefield. Tomorrow will be big new day for team! Must go now, have to speak to doktor."

True to his word, the heavy weapons expert set off towards the medical bay, a happy, carefree look on his usually angry face. The Texan merely stood there a little longer, smiling and shaking his head before he resumed his walk. A little fresh air on the roof would probably do wonders for his head...

The Sniper was on the roof, weapons by his side as he stared into the distance. Or more accurately, stared at the building on the opposite side of the battlefield that had so long represented the nine men he'd been paid to kill. How times changed.

He immediately became alert at the sound of somebody coming up the ladder. His hand immediately went for his SMG, muscles tensing. Sure there was no RED or BLU anymore to worry about and it would just be a teammate but you couldn't be a Sniper for this long and not learn the value of paranoia. Besides, if it was that damn spook or the Scout again come to harass him he'd be more than willing to shoot the bloody idiots.

He was somewhat surprised to see the shape of a reinforced hardhat rise up, signalling the arrival of the ex-RED. The Engineer didn't seem all that surprised that the Australian was up here but all the same, some tension remained between the two for a moment as they simply looked at each other. They both relaxed at the same time as if on some invisible signal, although some healthy wariness remained. Both of them were paranoid as hell when it called for it and it'd served them well enough in the past, so why stop now?

Time passed in that unsteady silence and eventually the Texan, sensing a decrease in hostility, spoke.

"I just want to thank ya stretch for helping end that squabbling."

The appreciation was heartfelt and sincere, causing the slightest of smiles to appear on the sharpshooter's features. Those wankers really did piss him off some days but after so many times of getting urine in the face they eventually cottoned on that there were unpleasant consequences to acting like children.

"No worries mate, we weren't gettin' anything useful done anyway and you'd be amazed at how quick a little Jarate can change almost any situation. Now how about you tell me why you came up here and intruded on a man's right to privacy?"

The question was posed with a toothy grin and a twinkle in the eye behind those aviators, letting the other man rest easy that the Australian hadn't been serious. His mood certainly had seemed to improve from earlier.

"Well, to tell you the truth I just came up here for some air and quiet for a bit, but seeing as you're here..."

"...you're wonderin' what my take on this whole thing is?"

A chuckle and a nod from the Engineer, who seemed to be silently suggesting that the Sniper had read him like a book.

"Roight then...I ain't gonna lie mate, we're in one fair dinkum mess here and I'm not too sure we're going to survive it. That being said, for all the unprofessional chaos of this team and the odds against us...if anyone can do it, we can. We don't have any other options besides the path we've chosen...and I get the feeling that even had things gone differently, that woman would have killed us off anyway. We're a threat to her and threats...tend to be eliminated before they become problems."

There was silence once more as they both pondered over those words, the rooftop quiet, apart from the occasional muffled sound from below. Eventually the Sniper got up and descended to the base below, calling out a "G'night!" to the man who still sat there, thinking.

The new day brought with it much in the way of fortune and progress. The Team was more organised, more optimistic and more willing to work together. The results of the ten men working together was one that surprised everyone for within a few mere hours they'd cobbled together a plan. Some insisted that it was still doomed to fail, with the Spy and Medic both expressing doubt, but even they couldn't hide their hope. The hope that it could work, the hope that it would work, that they could do the impossible and finally end things.

Not by running away, not by being the puppets of the Administrator, not by winning some pointless feud between two old brothers. They'd end it all: RED, BLU, Mann Co, TF Industries, the Announcer herself...everything. It was no good to escape the war when such entities existed with such power over the world. It was no good to slay one dragon and leave the rest alive. No...to truly be free they'd have to stand up and face the world. To be surrounded from all sides, to dethrone the rulers of the world, to rip away the veil of ignorance and destroy the foundations of tyranny.

Ideas were exchanged, new equipment designs were either created or built upon existing blueprints and training began. Theories were tossed around and intelligence, stolen or otherwise, was freely traded and pondered over. Little by little, the team of ten became closer and stronger, becoming something far more than the sum of its members alone.

It was determined that the Administrator's plan behind this whole mess was highly likely to be part of a plot to completely take over the world, with no RED or BLU in her way. Her power at present was strong, but not absolute. By removing the RED team, BLU would be able to takeover the contested territory and the corporation would be able to engulf the rival company. Then when they were distracted and about to crush RED completely the Announcer would be able to take over completely, bypassing the need for the two owners, Blutarch and Redmond Mann.

Considering that Blutarch was the more hasty and reckless, pushing BLU into the offensive more whilst Redmond was more defensive, it made sense that BLU would be chosen over RED. Blutarch would be easier to manipulate into her plot and then remove from the picture. With BLU and RED's assets fully under her control, she would have power like no dictator in history had ever held. She'd be able to exert an insane degree of control over the world behind the scenes with the people being none the wiser.

This revelation only increased the resolve of the Team, who saw now that their struggle for freedom was all so much more than that. It was with this knowledge weighing heavy on their minds and shoulders that they struggled to reinvent themselves as something beyond their mere classes. Knowledge was shared, prototype weapons HQ hadn't authorised them to use were studied, intel was analysed and members worked together on joint projects. Much like the Engineer, they were no longer constrained by restrictions, by regulations, by the tedium of the repeated battles.

Minds were free to think, to explore, to create, to experiment. The former RED and the Medic shared information regarding the medigun and the LFD in the hopes of improving both. The Medic walked away with a new medigun prototype that would put all others to shame and the Engineer refined the existing Übercharge and healing mechanics. The Über-Overdrive he'd unleashed upon BLU team was inefficient, wasting a lot of energy and causing damage to the LFD after use, completely disabling the Über function. With these modifications, the time could be extended and the feature could be used without risking damage for only a small loss of overall power.

Everyone knew that this drive to improve, to become better, to become stronger, to cover their weaknesses...it was more than just trying to give themselves a fighting chance. Their spirits seemed to demand it, demand that they progress, that they better themselves and extend their reach far above where they currently were. They pushed themselves, feeling the fire within swell and grow and thrive on each little achievement, every small step forwards: all the countless elements of progress.

RED and BLU were gone. The former hadn't had a choice in it and were dearly missed, not only for the friendships and rivalries but for the help they would be in the future that would be forged. As mere mercenaries they had all been the best but even the best got tired, even the strongest iron would rust, even the toughest man could break. They had to go beyond being the best, had to go beyond being mere mercenaries, mere men that could be told what to do under threat of death or baited with money.

Team Fortress was more than a dysfunctional group of ten oddballs futilely taking on the world for some vain dream. Upon their shoulders and on their backs they carried the burden of a world that didn't even realise just how in danger it was. In their hands was the power to reshape reality, to make their own path through mountains and men, through fire and death, through pain and suffering and all that could ever stand in their way. And in their hearts burned the bright beacon of hope, of justice, of the need for a better world, of the need to be free, of the desire to make it all end, and the memory of those who had fallen.

Their time at Teufort had ended and they'd turn their backs on the twin bases for what could well be the last time. Turning against the hand that fed them, the system that kept them alive, well-stocked and had given them some purpose in life these past few years...it was time to go. To go and make their dreams reality, to go and leave the past behind, to go and build their own future through force. They stood together, proud and tall, putting their lives in the hands of their teammates, their comrades.

Death was likely, almost guaranteed and yet they would have it no way. These were the men they'd fight alongside, the men they'd gladly die for, the men they'd refuse to watch slip away from their fingers.

The Scout, equipped with a modification of HQ's Force A Nature mark 2 prototype, a powerful nailgun, his trusty bat, a few cans of bonk and flash-bang grenades. The runner wore an aerodynamic jumpsuit of sorts, light pieces of armour placed to protect vital areas whilst remaining close to form and preventing any hindrance of movement. Fingerless gauntlets stretched over his hands and down his wrists over his usual bandages. Upon his back was a small but vital backpack filled with various supplies whilst one wrist held a bulky watch that served as a miniature radar system of sorts.

The boy's hat, earpiece and cocky nature, however, remained unchanged.

Jane Doe, better known as the Soldier, stood to attention, his uniform a darker blue, padded with kevlar at the chest, stripes clearly visible on his arms. An armoured shoulder pad was on his right, designed to help bear the weight of the fearsome rocket launcher he now wielded. With a more powerful propulsive blast per rocket producing faster projectiles and a higher rate of fire combined with the higher yield explosives thanks to some careful tinkering with the Demoman, he would be a force to be reckoned with. Protective boots gripped the ground firmly, a double-barrelled shotgun at his waist and a katana strapped to his back.

The helmet he forever wore on his head couldn't hide the smile on his usually stern face.

The Pyro, even now the eternal mystery, stared into the distance silently, their thoughts kept to themselves. Wishing to remain in their suit, little modification had been made...but nonetheless the firebug was a little better armoured and the gas canister on their back had not only been expanded, but also protected by a metal frame built around it to prevent a lucky shot to the canister which could cause explosive results. Their fingers twitched by the trigger of their flamethrower, which had been tweaked to allow for a more powerful compression blast and an alternative firing method that fired a longer, arcing stream of fire instead of the usual short-range cone of flames.

Behind the lenses of the gas mask, those eyes still burned with ferocious intensity, smouldering with intent.

The Demoman, or perhaps more aptly, the Demoknight, held an appearance best described as a mixture of time periods rolled into one. Clad in pieces of traditional knight armour, made with modern techniques he stood with sword and "Fusion" pipebomb launcher in hand, the metal gleaming in the sun. The explosive weapon was best described as the illegitimate child of the grenade and sticky launchers. The projectiles fired packed more punch than standard grenades and with a simple toggle of a switch before firing, could either be launched like normal grenades that exploded upon contact or after a set time...or they could be spread out across the ground and remotely detonated. The two modes could easily be switched between and reduced the hassle and bulk of two separate launchers. A shield was strapped to his left arm whilst his right held a newly forged blade, a joint effort between the Engineers, himself and with some basis on the knowledge of the RED Demoman had left behind.

He was standing straight enough for now, but the empty bottles left in the base spoke volumes.

The Heavy Weapons Guy loomed above them all, minimal changes to his outward appearance betraying the strength inside. His vest had been reinforced on the interior with steel, causing bullets to bounce off his build with even greater ease. After much persuading and careful thought his beloved Sasha had been made stronger, the minigun revving up swiftly as if eager, modified to be able to directly pull in the bandoleers the Russian wore as reserve ammunition without the slightest pause. On one hip, a weapon that boggled the mind, a quadruple barrelled shotgun, lay in wait, ready to impart enough force to tear off any other man's arms with each shot.

His other hip held a box that contained the sandviches he loved to gorge upon.

Dell Conagher, formerly the BLU Engineer, stared long and hard at the Gunslinger that had permanently replaced his right arm those years ago and given him a real idea of just what he was working for. He wore a combat frame similar to his RED counterpart, but his was better armoured and sleeker in its design, lacking the bulky LFD on his back. Instead his back held what resembled a cross between a jetpack and a backpack...which was not far from the truth. Thrusters on the back worked in unison with those on his boots and the backpack stored vital construction materials and rapidly deployable modified buildings. His pistol and Frontier Justice had been tweaked to pack more punch but otherwise remained the same: the familiarity was comforting in its own way.

The Texan shut his eyes, thinking back to his grandfather and wondering whether it was fate or chance that would bring him to his grandfather's employers.

The Medic surveyed the surroundings calmly, taking in the sights with a detached air about him. The pack on his back running down to the experimental "Life Sparker" medigun glowed, barely even hinting at the great power he held. The Life Sparker held a much greater rate of healing, allowed for patients to be overhealed further than usual and a prototype feature that allowed the beam to be spread onto multiple teammates at once for a reduction in healing speed. It provided an Übercharge that granted extended immunity from damage and knockback and pumped the patient full of energy, allowing for greater strength and speed for a short time. The Blutsauger needles had been loaded with a powerful toxin and his Übersaw was ready if he needed it.  
>He couldn't resist smiling proudly at the men around him who'd once been so hopeless but had shown him so much and would now bravely march to near-certain doom.<p>

The Sniper's face was unreadable as his head bowed, hat pulled down to further hide his features, hidden in shadow. He carried his stock, well-cared for Sniper Rifle with ease and comfort, glancing down at the boxes of new ammunition he now carried. Powerful twin revolvers he'd practised with and now felt confident using hung on each side, a jar or two remained hidden on his person and he carried a modern-design crossbow on his back alongside well-crafted arrows for the weapon.

Professionals came prepared for everything and he knew he was ready as he'd ever be, especially with the full Thermos Flask of coffee concealed in one pocket.

The Spy nervously smoked several cigarettes at once but otherwise didn't let his emotions show. His normal blue suit had been exchanged for a darker grey one with blue armbands marked with his class emblem. The watch on his left wrist incorporated the stock Inviswatch, the Cloak and Dagger and the Dead Ringer into a single useful device that allowed him greater freedom and with careful thought could potentially be used to cloak indefinitely and sustain minimal damage. The Ambassador was held tightly in one hand whilst the other played absent-mindedly with his butterfly knife, not even showing the slightest bit of caution for the lethal poison that coated the blade and could easily seep through skin.

Reaching for another cigarette and for his lighter, the Frenchman glanced over at the former RED...

The demon was a RED no more but all the same he was clad in dark crimson, browns, greys and blacks. The Crimson Demon had further reinforced his combat frame, improved general efficiency, added an internal cooling system to slow the overheating of his chaingun, modified Vengeance to store more shells at any one time, worked out some bugs with the Overdrives and now...

Now he stood in front of them all, staring at the skies above, the bright sun not causing him to so much as blink. He slowly looked around at his comrades, at the base that had been a key feature in his life for so long and he nodded. One step at a time they walked with the Texan at the lead as they left Teufort, and their pasts, behind. With each step they move closer to their goal, with each stride progression is made, with each pound of the heart the inferno rages within, roaring for release.

For freedom, Team Fortress marches.  
>For peace, Team Fortress marches.<br>For a resolution, they march.  
>For the future they will build, they march.<br>And for those left behind, they don't look back, they don't hesitate.  
>And for those they've yet to face, they merely look on and prepare.<p>

RED team died with the destruction of Dustbowl and now, they realised, BLU had fallen then too. The eighteen men spread across two warring mercenary teams were gone and now ten different figures strode out into a world that would swallow them alive, something beyond mere mortal men. Every last one wore the same expression of determination etched onto their features. Every last one felt that same fire burning in their hearts, pushing them on. And every last one wore, somewhere on them, the distinctive emblem that marked them as Team Fortress:

Four elements forming both a circle and a crosshair. A symbol of the clear target in mind, of the death that would await them. An icon representing their union and the separation of their foes into scattered fragments that couldn't threaten themselves or the world ever again. A beacon of hope for those men and perhaps in time for those who would follow the tunnel out of the prison they'd been trapped in, the path forged with their wills leading to a better tomorrow.

They do not fear the odds, nor do they fear death. When one amongst them had already destroyed all expectations and done the impossible, doing the unthinkable becomes a given. And why fear death? They'd already died so many times and it had only made them stronger. After all, without death they could not experience...

_REBIRTH._


	15. Hunted

Author notes: Well, was able to somehow find the energy and willpower to write this chapter despite the rather poor week. Not much to say about this one, it's a bit shorter than the recent giant chapters and a few parts were a pain to write. Updates will still take some time as I'm still in the exam period and I'll say right now that sorry, I don't do requests. This is my first fic and I'd like to finish this before I do anything else and I'm busy enough as is...  
>...So, yeah, we get to see Team Fortress in action at last, woo!<p>

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><p><em><strong>Chapter 15: Hunted<strong>_

Miss Pauling slowly made her way through the base, clipboard in hand, nervously jotting down notes. The other high-level employees of TF Industries gave her a wide berth, lest they incur the Administrator's wrath. The woman wasn't known for caring about her assistant or people in general but all the same, nobody wished to delay Miss Pauling for fear of the Administrator, who was well-known to not take delays well.

The young woman took in a deep breath and ceased her scribblings before entering the room that held the most powerful woman in the world. She'd been the Administrator's assistant for several years now but the long walk to the desk where she sat...it still got to her every time. Considering how much she relied on telecommunications in her role as the Announcer, it had struck Miss Pauling as odd that her employer almost always demanded to receive information face-to-face rather than through other means. Still, she did not question it, just as she did not question her less pleasant orders regardless of her personal opinion.

The memory of the Administrator's voice rung in her head as clearly as if the remark had been made just now rather than shortly after her employment: "Assistants aren't paid to think, Miss Pauling. They're paid to do as they're asked and only when absolutely necessary should they turn their insignificant minds to the painfully difficult task of thinking. Do not QUESTION ME AGAIN."

Silence. A timid cough. The sound of a chair turning. Raised eyebrows, a draw of a cigarette and a voice that could freeze even the strongest spirit.

"Your report?"

Blunt and to the point. No surprise there, she was not the woman to waste time and with that in mind Miss Pauling summarised the current deployment of troops, agents, vehicles and even the law enforcement against the rogue mercenaries. Whilst the police were mostly being kept out of it, those in power had already been bought and all it would take would be a single message and the ten mercenaries would become wanted men all across the world.

The Announcer merely sat and listened, occasionally interrupting with a cutting remark or criticism but otherwise the woman was silent. Beneath the ice she was burning with cold fury at the men who dared to betray her. They would not live to see the next sunrise.

Elsewhere a train rumbled along at breakneck pace, juddering and vibrating every so often as the world around it blurred. Atop the train were ten of the most dangerous men in the world and to one side was a vast fleet of vehicles chasing after it. Most were a good distance behind but several unmarked armoured vehicles were catching up to the locomotive and a few light assault vehicles were currently spitting machine gun fire at the figures aboard.

Or rather, there had been a few light assault vehicles. Two of the figures had merely stood tall, took aim and unleashed explosive hell upon the pursuers. The Soldier's rockets flew straight and true, detonating into spheres of pure destructive potential that turned the vehicles into blackened slag and threw them backwards at the gaining fleet, forcing them to swerve and brake. The Demoman let out several barrages of pipebombs, the first barrage traveling in perfect arcs and vaporising the last of the immediate pursuers whilst the latter barrages instead rolled to a halt on the ground. A few moments later and the leaders of the chase ran into the pipebomb trap, the ensuing explosion creating a rush of hot air and ashes that countered the cool breeze atop the racing train.

The two Engineers worked together to construct defences on both sides of the train, mini-sentries forming the bulk of the support whilst level three sentries and dispensers were erected at key locations. The former BLU headed to the back of the train, pulled out his Wrangler with a spin and took control of the rear sentries, coordinating their concentrated fire far beyond their usual range.

The former RED instead made his way to the front, passing by his other teammates as he did so. The Sniper was looking into the distance for any problems further down the track and the Heavy, Pyro and Scout were carrying various supplies, moving the more valuable cargo to better protected carriages, the latter team member clearly struggling under the weight of the large crate he insisted he could carry regardless. The Engineer merely shook his head as he passed them, not too surprised by the crash and resulting angry cries that shortly followed.

Entering the engine car he found the Spy and Medic, who were planning out finer details of their options and backup plans as well as monitoring the radio for information. He must have walked in at a bad moment as he found the pair cursing, with the doctor giving a few short oaths in German whilst the Frenchman swiftly made his way through several languages before settling back to his native French.

"This a bad time, fellas?"

The Medic was the first to respond to the Texan's query, shaking his head and removing his glasses to give them a quick wipe.

"Nein, Herr Engineer. We have merely received word that some 'highly dangerous and insane criminals' matching our descriptions have been given a rather large bounty."

He paused, frowning as he placed his glasses back onto his nose and blinked a few times.

"Considering ze force currently chasing us und the announcement we've heard jetzt...I'd say the Announcer wants us dead."

The Spy snorted at that.

"Only wants us dead? Please, ze Administrator knows that bringing ze law enforcement or any would-be bounty hunters into matters is not enough to really cause us any harm, zhis is just a way for her to gain information about our whereabouts and put us into a state of panic. I can assure you zhat the real issue here is that she's willing to go to such extents and risk blowing the cover behind TF Industries, RED and BLU."

The Frenchman retrieved and lit a cigarette in a single swift, arcing motion that neither of the other men's eyes could quite follow and he took a quick draw of it before pulling it out and opening his mouth as if to say something. Whatever he wished to say was rudely interrupted as an explosion rumbled through the train followed by angry yelling from their teammates. A quick message flashed on the Engineer's googles, alerting him to the destruction of a large amount of mini-sentries and minor damage to other buildings.

The Scout then burst in, nailgun in hand and the bulky watch on his hand flashing. "We got incoming! They've freaking got some helicopters firing missiles at us and my radar is saying sumthin' along the lines of hey dumbass, got more of these guys comin' our way'. Heavy's on top fighting one off right now."

This news caused the doctor to lift his medigun and adjust his glasses one last time before rushing out to aid the Russian, nearly sending the Sniper flying as the Australian came to report, another missile just missing the train.

"Sorry mates, but I've got some bad news too. We got ourselves a right bugger coming up, they've got some heavily armoured train on the tracks besides us trying to catch up. Looks like it'll probably be heavily armed, judging from the exterior."

The Sniper raised one hand to his hat and nodded once to those present before jogging off and climbing up a nearby ladder, rifle at the ready. The Spy looked sadly at the cigarette that had been knocked out of his hands to the ground by the explosion and resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands. Instead he merely nodded to the Engineer before the Texan also ran out of the engine carriage, leaving the masked man to his task. The masked man would have to leave the current situation in the capable hands of his team, he still had work to do, plotting their next move and listening out for further information.

The majority of the team was on the carriage roofs, carefully but swiftly dodging machine gun fire as they fought attacks from both the ground and air. The Demoman found himself mostly firing pipebombs at the pursuing land vehicles as he used his shield to protect himself and reloading teammates from weapons fire. The Soldier had turned his attention to firing at the ever-growing bombardment of battle 'copters, occasionally firing off the occasional rocket towards clusters of heavier armoured ground pursuers.

The two Engineer's had their hands full maintaining and directing their automated defences, which were currently the main force keeping lighter armoured attackers, airborne or otherwise, at bay. Dell kept his position at the rear, wrestling the Wrangler to and fro, expertly destroying the larger threats and ducking to each side to avoid rockets being launcher by nearby soldiers poking their heads out of their APCs. The Crimson Demon repaired and built with one hand as his other spat out fiery death, forcing the 'coptors off his back as he maintained the defences, running up and down the train.

The Pyro was running and hopping everywhere to deflect the air-to-land missiles, a few of the guided explosives redirected to their source, stopping only to recover some ammo at a dispenser or set alight anything that came too close to the train using the new flamethrower option that spat out an arcing stream of fire. The airborne annoyances would quickly pull back, rotors aflame and smoke trailing, leaving the team some slight breathing time before even more took their place.

The Sniper found himself poking his head out of wherever he could find cover, taking a few shots at drivers of the vehicles, his rounds piercing even the sturdiest of so-called "bulletproof" glass. He would then quickly change positions, sometimes even hanging between carriages on a ladder to avoid being spotted by the helicopters and with a single pull of the trigger cause a hole between the pilot's eyes and the 'copter to spiral out of control into nearby mountains. He still tried to find the time to keep a bead on the approaching train behind them in the distance that was still slowly gaining on them.

The Heavy rained liquid death in all directions, invigorated by the modified medigun the Medic trailed on the Russian most of the time, the connection between doctor and patient breaking only with the call for help from a teammate and some quick healing. The pair made slow progress from the top of the train to the bottom, the minigun roaring in defiance of the pitiful bullets that their foes tried to hit them with. Sasha span and span, her bullets chewing through everything in their path with ease, detonating rockets in midair, breaking helicopter blades off and pushing the attackers further from the engine car. Any rocket aimed at the pair would merely be shrugged off and the pair would continue to advance, not daunted in the least as the train rattled and threatened to throw them off.

The Scout was choosing a path of destruction best described as "stupidly suicidal". The arrogant boy would leap onto any vehicle that got past the rest of the team and even toss a flash-bang grenade into the vehicle, causing the driver to lose sight and veer out of control or he'd drop in himself and impale his foes with rapid-fire nails, blasting the heavier armoured soldiers back with the twice-modified Force-A-Nature. With a suitable taunt and grin he would then jump to his next victim or leap back to the train just in time. On one occasion when one of the choppers had flew his way he'd leapt up, latched onto the "leg" of the helicopter, pulled himself into the cockpit, blasted the pilot through the other door then double-jumped back onto the still moving train, landing just as the now pilot-less 'copter crashed into the ground and exploded as an assault vehicle crashed into it. The stunt had earned the boy a hearty slap on the back from Jane before the Soldier had returned to his duties.

All in all it was sheer chaos and Team Fortress were at the centre of it, taking little more than scratches which failed to faze them as they struck out at their attackers. Little by little, the impossible numbers thinned, the only real concern being the heavily armoured dark train that got closer and closer. A few casual shots had been fired at it by the team but they caused little visible damage and they had more pressing concerns. Occupied with the more immediate threats and with their own speed reduced a little with every attack landed by their sea of foes, it was allowed to creep closer and closer.

The Spy ran from carriage roof to carriage roof, using the combined cloaking functions of the OmniWatch to avoid weapons fire and reduce damage using the Dead Ringer component of any random shots that did hit him. He made it to the central car where most of the team had gathered and uncloaked, the Ambassador in one hand. The team were a little surprised by his appearance but a few moments later and the last threat had been destroyed, the wreckage and flames in the distance behind them stretching for miles across the dusty plains.

"Gentlemen, we have trouble. Zhe attackers were a distraction; they have destroyed the tracks ahead and formed a massive railblock consisting of tanks, artillery, soldiers and snipers. The train following us is intending on boarding us, carrying members of RED and BLUs own elite armed forces under direct orders from the Administrator to take us in...in a 'state that could allow us to be revived'. We've fallen into her trap; we'll either die in irretrievable pieces or be killed only to be brought back somehow, once again slaves to that woman's bidding."

The Spy paused, the wind from atop the train causing his eyes to water as he fumbled for his cigarette case. Predictably, the nicotine stick was snatched out of his hands by the high speeds and so he instead sighed and shut his eyes and sighed for a moment before straightening, his eyes sparkling and dancing.

"Or rather, zhat is what she thinks of our predicament. I, however, have a magnificent plan, mon amis..."

The Frenchman was not to be outdone by such a simple trap. His opponent had made her move and believed she was about to checkmate them. This would not be the case, he would not allow it, for it was their move now and they would survive. He'd assassinated world leaders, obtained information that could cause a new World War and managed to escape death time and time again, both before and during this conflict.

He would not roll over and die now. He would not be hunted. They would not be hunted. They would not give in. For this was to be the beginning, their first strike on the road to the end. The world could chase and attack and shout and scheme all it wanted, they wouldn't be caught so easily. The team would not falter, would not bow to that woman ever again, would not play into her hands once more.

For they may be hunted.  
>For they may be wanted.<br>For they may be outnumbered.  
>But...<p>

They would not be outmatched.


	16. Outclassed

**Author's notes:** Super, super massive apology for the delays with this chapter! Seriously, been meaning to write this one forever and all the stuff keeping me busy ended quite a long while ago now...I just couldn't find the energy to write on days where I had the time and on days where I did have the energy, there was always something going on. Soon enough, more stuff came along to get me all busy and I've had plenty of worries and concerns as of late to stop me writing but still...I really have no excuse.  
>I just hope my readers can forgive me. I finally managed to get myself to write and as such, this chapter may not be of the best quality as I haven't properly checked it through by myself or anyone else; I just really wanted no more delays. I'll try and get the next chapter, which will likely be quite short, done ASAP. Here's hoping nothing gets in the way...<br>Again, my apologies to all my readers! ."

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><p><em><strong>Chapter 16: Outclassed<strong>_

There was something to be said of the atmosphere, it wasn't often you saw a group like this nervous. TF Industries' private and very much top-secret armed forces were the sort who would look at others claiming to be "the best of the best" and inside would be roaring in laughter even as they politely nodded. You didn't work directly for the Administrator, taking care of her loose ends and any "experiments" that had run out of control without learning a thing or two. It wasn't often they were called in and usually it was just a single unit of the force, used for intimidation, a spot of assassination or for dealing with more direct confrontations.

However, it was not one, but two units that sat in the heavily armoured train, seemingly silent and stoic. However, to anyone more perceptive or experienced, they would notice the signs. The split-second breaks in composure, the slight electricity in the air...nobody in Unit 17 or Unit 11 said anything, but they didn't need to.

They knew the story of RED and BLU, or at least enough of it. With TF Industries you learnt enough to do your job and nothing more, people who knew too much tended to wind up dead...or worse. The fine men and women here were not the most elite of the forces but were still very much a force to be reckoned with. But the men they were facing...they were something else entirely.

The 18 mercenaries of RED and BLU, fighting a never-ending war where death meant nothing, where being lit aflame, launched through the air with explosives then stabbed in the back was relatively tame. They were war crazy enough for men to test tempered steel swords against shotguns, where turrets tracked your every move, where men were turned to gods of destruction for but a moment, medigun beam trained on them...

There was no doubt that such men were dangerous and insane, but all the same, you had to respect their might. To see and hear over the radio what the 10 remaining had done whilst pursued; eliminating everything else but the armoured train merely reinforced the obvious: these men were not to be taken lightly. To underestimate these men for but a moment would be fatal.

Captain Johnson of Unit 17 knew this, he felt the apprehension, felt the need to raise his voice, to remind and assure his men. But he bit his tongue and kept his silence even as their vehicle pulled up alongside the enemy train. To speak now would to violate protocol and ruin the professionalism they strived to maintain...and would ruin his image in front of the commander of this mission, Commander Marshall of Unit 11. Both units were not as experienced or well-equipped as some of the true elites within the forces, but both were reliable and commanded respect, with Unit 11 having more seasoned veterans and spotless operations under its belt.  
>And so the tension went unaddressed as Commander Marshall roused the troops, personally leading the two units into the fray under his better experience. 20 of the 30 men stood at attention as their armoured transport connected itself to the other train, hatches opening as they prepared to board. The other 10 men, including Johnson, various operators of the vehicle and backup troops, stayed behind.<p>

The world is a strange place of circumstances and possibilities. Had Johnson spoken up or insisted to go with the boarding group, perhaps things would have gone differently and there would be survivors to pass on the tale about to unfold. Had it not been for a detonation in front of both trains temporarily gaining the attention of the operators, maybe the detachment of the last few trailers of the enemy train would have been noticed and acted upon.

As it was, however, Johnson remained silent and the distraction of a fired rocket combined with preparing to board the train masked the escape of Team Fortress...

The Spy carefully controlled his breathing as the last few carriages swiftly vanished behind the moving train as it rocked along on its course with the armoured container of soldiers latched onto it. He resisted the urge to pull out a cigarette and merely held his knife firmly as his eyes burned into the hatch of the enemy train.

Stooped into a low crouch in one corner, he smiled a little, glancing at his OmniWatch as the Cloak & Dagger functionality allowed him to remain invisible indefinitely as long as he remained still. The trap was ready, his allies were gone and any moment now his prey would be here.

A bead of sweat runs down his covered forehead as the hatch hisses open and the soldiers emerge, weapons and armour gleaming in the sun. They bear no markings and their armour is light: enough to help protect vitals without hindering movement. They carry a varied assortment of weaponry but there is no mistaking the quality and advancement over other military hardware and even the tools of the trade used by RED and BLU.

The Frenchman tries to resist a snort as he watches them move, well-equipped and co-ordinated. It would appear that TF Industries had been seriously holding back on weapon developments released to the mercenaries, as even the most rudimentary of handguns and rifles of their private forces was countless decades ahead of current firearms. But all the training and equipment in the world would not save them, for whilst they may be _among_ the best of the best at what they did...the Spy simply _was_ the best and his only regret was that they would all be _dead_ before they knew it.

The boarding party efficiently made their way through the seemingly-deserted train; the hairs on their neck starting to rise as their eyes darted to and fro, searching for a sign of the enemy or for potential traps. The group had men guarding the rear and watching for signs above, below and to the sides of potential dangers. Some might call it paranoid to check in all directions, no matter how ridiculous or impossible a threat from that direction may be, but you didn't get to be in TF Industries' armed forces by gasping in surprise at the impossible, you just dealt with it.  
>Just as Commander Marshall's brow furrowed in suspicion, they all heard it: laughter further up ahead. Various voices, the sound of a radio getting louder and louder. It appeared to be coming from near the front of the train, perhaps even in the front carriage. For a split-second, they were all distracted.<p>

A split-second was all it took. The Spy had switched to the standard InvisWatch function, the already quiet-decloak sound masked further by the OmniWatch as he dispatched a solider at the rear silently in a single swift motion. Light armour mattered little to a masterful assassin such as himself, and dealing with the body was almost as trivial. In the past, HQ had supplied him with various knives which could kill foes silently and even temporarily mask the body.  
>They all had their flaws though, for instance, they didn't mask the sound of the body hitting the floor and mostly felt like crutches for the Frenchman. Still, he'd gotten some of the technology integrated into his reliable butterfly knife and with practice he'd learnt to both strike soundlessly and swiftly lower the invisible corpse as his knife and disguise kit worked together to instantly assume the appearance of whomever he had just killed.<p>

The soldiers were none the wiser and the Spy, having watched the motions of each of them and their roles, blended in perfectly. The Commander merely commanded them to keep alert for a moment as he called in one the team waiting in their transport, telling them that they were moving in to engage the enemy and still had the element of surprise.

The mercenary followed them as they made progress closer and closer to the front, finding what moments he could to take equipment, either by expert pick-pocketing skills or in one case, casually killing one person who might have saw something.

Still, he wished to avoid killing too many just yet, even one missing person might blow his cover. Yet here they were, just outside the door to the front cabin, where the clear sounds of celebrating mercenaries could be heard.

Commander Marshall had resisted the urge to laugh and had confidently lead his men forward. Whilst he still kept his head enough to keep an eye out for hidden motion-sensitive explosions or hidden foes, he had yet to encounter any and had thus come to the conclusion that these so-called mercenaries and "highly dangerous individuals" were no longer a threat. They had pulled off their little stunt earlier, hadn't noticed the pursuing train or the roadblock and railblock ahead and were now celebrating like utter imbeciles.

He hadn't noticed any missing men or how repetitive the sounds from the front cabin were. He hadn't heard the sound of a man cloaking from sight and almost-soundlessly retreating away. He hadn't stopped to properly consider what was behind his door.

With a nod to the nearest troop, he smashed the door down, rifle at the ready, men at his back to find...

A radio with some small contraption on it by the volume dial, several tape recorders and amplifiers and most worryingly, a large amount of explosives. The boarding party had no time to react as a motion-sensor triggered the first batch of explosives in the cabin, which in turn triggered a chain reaction, causing various smaller detonations from explosives strapped to the outside of the carriages and trailers closest to the front.

The explosion was enough to kill or fatally injure all but one who had hung back, watching for any surprise attacks from the rear. He found himself flung to the ground and disorientated as the engine carriage was blown into a burnt husk with others merely having their roofs collapse or their sides crumple away. The lone survivor was awake just long enough for to hear an utterance of, "Surprise," over the ringing in his ears before he too, perished and his murderer faded away once more.

The Spy breathed a sigh of relief. They'd fallen for his trap even easier than he had dared hope and the Demoman had actually managed to cause enough destruction without wrecking the whole train or causing injury to himself, who had been several trailers away. The one member of the boarding party who had survived was now dead but there were still a few loose ends to cut yet. After all, were it as simple as leading the men to their explosive death, there would be no need for him to stay behind.

No, anyone still on the enemy train would have heard that explosion and would immediately be suspicious. They would contact their superiors if possible and then investigate. Whilst it would not be too much of a hassle if they survived, they could still work out roughly where and when the team had vanished and possibly track them. It was better to leave no survivors...

Coughing for a moment to adjust his voice, he reached for the stolen equipment and picked out the radio. The voice of Commander Marshall gruffly addressed those aboard the enemy train.  
>"I can confirm the deaths of all 10 mercenaries. We've took a few causalities, the tricky bastards took themselves out with explosives upon receiving fire, over."<p>

"Roger that, Commander. Awaiting our units and your report when you get back, over and out." Came the voice of Captain Johnson, the slightest hint of relief breaking through his otherwise stoic tone.

The Spy merely chuckled to himself as he clicked the radio off. He had several options for dealing with the remainders but decided that putting the stolen equipment to use was the best solution. With a drag on a cigarette his form was covered in smoke for a few moments, vanishing to reveal the grizzled features of the Commander. Hefting the stolen rifle and pocketing a flash-bang grenade, the mercenary continued to the hatch and betrayed the slightest hint of a smile before entering.

The exclamations of shock and surprise as he killed the Captain of Unit 17, averted his gaze as he tossed the flash-bang and then slaughtered the rest was oddly soothing to the Frenchman as he slit the neck of the last of his prey, a short navigator for the armoured beast he stood within. As professional as he normally was, sometimes there was a perverse joy he could take to his work. There was all the skill of silently executing your targets with not a single clue to lead back to you as you vanished back into the shadows, an art form more refined than music or painting in his opinion...and then there were matters like this. Riskier and best done when all else was in control, they were less elegant but made up for it with satisfaction.

The 9 members of Team Fortress separated from the Spy casually rested as their carriage slowly made it's progress down the rails. They'd planned for having to jettison trailers, possibly with themselves still on them and as such, had been able to carry their part in the Spy's plan easily. Whilst the masked man could imitate their voices easily enough, it was the little sounds like moving chairs and chinking glasses that made it all convincing, so they'd quickly recorded what they had to, fired off their distraction, detached the last few trailers and with the help of some modifications, had braked to halt. Once they were sure the trains were too far ahead to notice them, the two Engineer's had devised a hacked-together method of propulsion, modifying the front carriages' wheels and linking them up to a simple engine with the help of the others. The Scout had mostly fetched tools and metal, the Pyro was surprisingly useful regarding the construction of the internal combustion engine and the Sniper kept an eye out for any further pursuers or survivors from earlier attacks. Demoman, Soldier and Heavy were useful with the brute-force work and the Medic was awfully useful at coordinating everyone and checking that all went efficiently.

Their progress was slower than the trains ahead but was still swift enough for their purposes and soon enough they caught sight of the trains in the distance, both of which had slowed down significantly. The Sniper, eye to his scope, made out a familiar figure tumbling out onto the ground before both vehicles accelerated into the distance once more, thundering towards the roadblock that awaited them both even further down the line.

The modified trailers braked to a halt once more to pick up the masked man, who even now was wiping dust and dirt from his suit, all in vain, as the two trains vanished into the distance, the armoured vehicle seeming to almost drag the other with it as it continued on the course the Spy had set into it before leaping off.

Upon being reunited and finally giving up his suit as a lost cause for now, it was all the Frenchman could do not to smirk too much at his teammates and gloat. The appreciation and praise in their eyes and voice was enough. For once, he even tolerated the cheap American alcohol they thrust upon him, the loud praise, the powerful slap on the back and all the other little quirks.

Outside, the Spy was smug and clearly straining not to break out into snorting laughter or roll his eyes and bask in his own superiority. But inside, the cold-hearted killer relaxed a little and pondered on the men he had once merely thought of as colleagues and now...had somehow found as his friends.

He coughed once to get their attention, grins fading for a moment as he put on his most serious and dignified air.

"Gentlemen. I know of a base nearby that has fallen out of use and memory for most that we can use temporarily as our own, mon amis...but first I would like to make but a small observation..."

Their eyes were on him, the wind gently blowing in the open-topped trailer they were currently in as they slowly made their way forwards once more. He shut his eyes for a moment, feeling his lungs expand with air, his heart beating and generally savouring his life.

With some effort he opened his eyes and shone them an award-winning smile which quickly turned into a smug smirk as he finally spoke what he'd been holding in for quite some time:

"Clearly, they were _outclassed_."


	17. Breather

**Author notes:** Apologies for the delays with this chapter, again, little excuse really. This one was difficult to wrangle with as it ended up being a wee bit different to what I had planned (it was supposed to be a lot shorter for starters) and I didn't exactly write it whilst in the most alert of states or best of moods. My paragraphs and spacing was mangled even worse than usual, most of it should be fixed (as are stupid spelling mistakes) but a few things might have escaped my sleepy eyes.  
>Bit of a breather chapter here (hence the name), a few revelations and other things, but mostly just a break and some foreshadowing before more...more what? Action? Hammy speeches? Overpowered weapons? Time will tell.<p>

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><p><em><strong>The Last Engineer - Chapter 17: Breather<strong>_

The sound of laughter filled the air with a sense of life and energy that had otherwise been absent as of late for the mercenaries. Secured away in the confines of a well-furnished room within an abandoned hidden base that the Spy had led them to, the men felt free to let themselves rest, if only for a little while. Sure, they were still on the run from the woman who effectively ruled the entire world in secret, camped in one of her own bases and with a bounty on their heads but hey, "sometimes you just gotta stop, take a look at all ya been through and laugh," as the BLU Engineer had put it. And so, laugh they had.

They laughed and cheered at the distant sight of the runaway trains colliding with the roadblock far ahead, causing an explosion on the horizon. They took little jabs at each other as always, from the Spy's ridiculous accent which the Scout insisted he had to be putting on ("I assure you, my accent is as authentic as zhis rogue is handsome, mon amis") and the Sniper's continued insistence on stockpiling on Jarate ("Doesn't matter if you blokes think I'm bonkers, this stuff is bleedin' useful!") to a particular source of mirth from the former BLUs: The Crimson Demon's apparent love for hammy speeches on the battlefield.

"Really now, Herr Engineer? You may have got zhe drop on us and shown incredible prowess on zhe field, but was the ridiculous yelling about your fiery passions really necessary?" The Medic asked with one eyebrow raised, ignoring the bottle of American beer on the table in front of him. Spy too was lifting his nose to the alcohol, the Frenchman's refined tastes clearly not including the swill that most of the others were so eager to drink down.

To his credit, the former RED did seem embarrassed, taking upon the shade of his former team and coughing a little before replying, with a chuckle: "Odd that you should complain doc, seein' as that "ridiculous yelling" seems to have brought you fellas along with me on this little ride." The Texan took a swig from his bottle, smiling and leaning back in his chair a little. "...'Sides, I'd been working like a rented mule, was running mostly on adrenaline and well...I suppose a guy could sorta get lost in the moment."

He paused for a moment, as if he was about to add something but was unsurprisingly interrupted by the Scout, who had so far managed to avoid opening his mouth for a quick comment for a record-breaking two minutes.

"Pfft, whatever man, talking all big. You just got us by surprise and had some fancy gear, coulda totally took care of ya if it was even turf." The normally fast-spoken boy was speaking surprisingly slowly and appeared to be swaying in his chair slightly. All eyes slowly moved to the bottle in front of him, of which but a few sips had been taken.

A pause.

The Medic and Spy resisted the urge to bury their heads in their hands; the two Engineers just shook their heads sadly, whilst the Demoman and Sniper shared a glance and resisted the urge to laugh. The Heavy saw no such need to hide his amusement, roaring with laughter as the Soldier grimaced and the Pyro played with a lighter dangerously close to an unopened can.

The batter from Boston blinked a few times before catching on, not to the reactions of his teammates, but to what he'd just said.

"Oh jeez! Uh...no, I know we're on the same side an' all, wouldn't think o' fighting with ya, hardhat but...just saying, ya know what I'm saying?"

Before any of the team members paying attention (for the Pyro was distracted by the flame of the now lit lighter and the Soldier appeared to be conversing with his shovel) could stop him, the Scout took another long swig from the bottle, gulping down loudly and almost falling from his chair, were it not for the BLU Engineer catching him at the last moment and setting him upright.

"Woah, steady on there pardner! I think you've had enough, son."

"Wha...what do you know? I'm fine, I think...uh...drink, all the time, ask my ma. I sho - no - I could tatally...motolly...totally, uh...fuck, what was I sayin'?" The Scout's speech worsened and his attempts to turn around and squint at the Texan again caused him to come dangerously close to hurting himself.

As the Engineer hefted him up once more, sharing more than a few glances and eye rolls with those that hadn't erupted into laughter, the drunken mercenary stunned the room into silence:  
>"Don't need ya help, which...which hardhat even are ya, hardhat? You two look so alike...should use your names or summin', tell ya apiece...uh, apart..."<p>

It was a curious thing. Such a simple statement, the impact of which was lost on the young fighter, who appeared to be drifting off into sleep. But to everyone else, the air became dead once more, with a slight spark of electricity. Slowly but surely, everyone but the Scout's gaze (including the Solider and Pyro, had dropped their shovel and lighter, respectively) turned towards the two Texans.

It stirred thoughts of the other team, of RED. Sure, it'd been odd how the two teams who so alike in fighting style and equipment, especially in the early days, but things had never clicked somehow. That both Heavies would be large and Russian or both Soldiers insane and American was a coincedence that was remarked upon once and then forgotten about. They had seen it; they had seen the similarities...

No, _more_ than similarities. Aside from minor details and colour scheme, the two teams were identical. The two Medics looked and sounded the same, as did every other class except possibly the Pyro, as nobody knew what he/she/it looked like. But somehow, crazy as it might seem, this fact had never really stuck with them or became as obvious as now.

Perhaps it was that they were on the same team now, no longer seeing the others as enemies, no longer on the battlefield, no longer in the respawn system and within the watchful eye of the Administrator. Whatever it was, right now, the truth was as clear as day: robotic limbs and armour aside, the two Engineers were identical.

Silence. Puzzled faces struggled to come to terms with this, the Medic bowing his head, the Spy retrieving a cigarette and the Demoman drinking more of his scrumpy before looking at the two Texans once more, blinking his one eye rapidly.

"...Och lads, is it just me, or does that bloody Scoot have a point? Them two are like twins and I kin see it so clear all o' a sudden! That ain't just the drink talkin', is it?"

The Sniper coughed, frowning as his eyes flickered from one Engineer to the other.  
>"No mate, I think you're right. 'sides the obvious differences, they might as well be twins. Ain't got a dingo's clue how I missed it before..."<p>

The two Engineers merely looked at each other in confusion, neither one certain of what exactly was going on. The former BLU merely sighed, sat back down once he was sure that the Scout was secure in his seat and gestured for his counterpart to try and address this issue. His eyes unseen behind his goggles, the 10th mercenary of the team raised a gloved hand to his chin, lost in thought.

The room descended into quiet once more, the only sounds being the breathing of the sleeping Scout, the flicker of the Pyro's lighter and the beeps of distant sentry turrets. Despite Spy assuring everyone the location was abandoned, safe, secure and forgotten about, they had decided to erect some defences just in case.

Finally, the former RED stood to his feet, addressing all awake members of the team.  
>"Now...I ain't exactly sure on the details, but considering all the madness we've seen, the technology and some of the shadier elements of out employment...I reckon it ain't a massive stretch to assume that the Administrator's got somethin' to do with this. And you'd best believe I mean both why we never noticed and why both teams were effectively mirrors of each other."<br>The Solider slammed his hand on the table, causing the sleeping Scout to twitch and the Pyro's lighter to fall to the floor with a clatter.

"Do you mean to tell me that the REDs were part of some insane clone soldier project joint developed by the Neo-Nazi-Commies then adopted by the sister in charge! I will not stand for this insubordination, there's only enough room on this planet for one of me and no maggot will inherit my fit-form physique through this madness!"

The American's angry gaze swept across the team from beneath his helmet, idling perhaps a little longer than needed on the Medic, Heavy and Spy for some reason. The other Engineer leant back a bit and held up both hands in a placating fashion.

"Slow down there, let's not be hasty and jump to conclusions. It could be clones but it could be something else. With the respawn, ghosts, haunted swords, teleportation technology, cloaking devices, and cans of radioactive soda, it could darn well be anything. So let's not be pointing fingers or making judgements until we got some solid data."

The Medic cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses before standing up and motioning for everyone to sit down and stay still.  
>"...Zhis is most worrying to consider und holds many...complications for us. But for now, we have enough on our plate as it is. I suggest zhat we focus on our major problems concerning our continued survival as well as zhe other interesting point raised by the drunken dumpkopf in the chair there." At the final comment he gestured to the sleeping Scout, rolling his eyes and resisting the urge to facepalm, especially when he saw how much of the bottle still remained.<p>

"Oh? Would you care to enlighten us, doctor? It is already shock enough for the boy's idle chatter to prove one item of interest, let alone a second." The Spy snorted, puffing smoke in the direction of the target of his scorn.

"Whilst I do agree zhat we should be focusing our efforts on more pressing matters, zhis is nonetheless something we shall have to address."

"Well...I do believe that considering the situation with our two Engineers and the formation of zhis new team outside of the original contract...a certain clause regarding identity would be wise to now ignore." The Medic stated, settling down once more and again looking at his own beer with distaste, wrinkling his nose as he removed his glasses and wiped them on a rare clean patch of his labcoat.

"Surely you cannot be serious, doctor? I am zhe Spy, to reveal my name even to my colleagues would be against all that I am."

It was not the Medic who answered but instead, the Solider, looking rather grim. "Jane Doe" was all he said, until, noticing the silence and confused looks; he cleared his throat and continued, glaring at the Spy.

"I said my name is Jane Doe. Come on Frenchie, Medic has a point, us men are all in this together now and if we're to win future battles we must trust each other as brothers in arms! For to not be able to trust each other at this stage is to surrender and I DO NOT SURRENDER! Way I see it, boys, is that it's us against the world right now and Uncle Sam ain't gonna help us, so get your heads out of your asses and put some trust in this unit!"

Jane paused in his ranting to take a breath and calm down, gesturing with one hand for someone else to continue. There was some mumbling and shuffling, but nobody said anything. Nobody until the Demoman, at least, who loudly placed his scrumpy bottle down and looked everyone in the eye before speaking.

"My name...ah, to hell with it, the name's Ewan Dougal. Dinnae be forgetting it lads!"

Faces of surprise quickly became more relaxed and the Sniper was the next to come forward, sighing a little as he did so:

"It's not very professional of me but at this point there isn't really anything professional left in this mess, roight? It's Jack Martin and I'll put one between your eyes if you don't speak up too. That goes for you especially, spoy."

And so, one by one, the names of each mercenary of Team Fortress was spoken aloud for the first time in countless years, albeit requiring some effort to acquire: Scout was rudely woken up and clued in, Pyro took several attempts to actually decipher and even then it was uncertain. As for the Spy, it took considerable time and pressure but eventually the mystery man agreed to disclose his forename, adding slyly that it may not be his real name, but all the same was one they were free to refer to him by. In the end, though, the team broke their contract again, choosing to disclose their identities to the men who they had fought and died with (and for one, against):

Scout - Kevin Sanders  
>Soldier - Jane Doe<br>Pyro - Ashley ?  
>Demoman - Ewan Dougal<br>Heavy - Grigori Borislav  
>BLU Engineer - Dell Conagher<br>RED Engineer - Isaac Howard  
>Sniper - Jack Martin<br>Medic - Nils Reiniger  
>Spy - Gabriel ?<p>

And so it was that the men of the team had uncovered another mystery regarding the matter of their employment and their former battles, but that night, as they slipped further and further into an alcohol-induced sleep, their bonds grew ever closer. No longer were they mere colleagues doing their job or even soldiers fighting alongside one another. No, they had shared that one last element they'd withheld for so long, that last link to their former lives that they had.

Perhaps it was the tiring circumstances that had pushed them all so far. Or maybe it was the excessive drinking, singing and joking around, with even the Medic and Spy eventually accepting the cheap booze with a grimace and some choking. Perhaps still it was just something about their victories, of knowing the feeling of hope, of having the sheer nerve to use one of the Administrator's old bases against her.

Whatever it was though...they felt it all. Despite whatever they may encounter, whatever hurdles and obstacles may confound them...one thing was certain. Team Fortress would grow stronger. They would grow closer. And someday, they would strike back.

But for now...ten men more dangerous than anything the world had seen before...slept at ease with one another.

Elsewhere, there was to be no rest. Video screens displayed, repeating over and over, what little footage she had to draw from. Entire squads being eliminated with ease, attack copters swatted like flies and the train that had been carrying some of TF Industries' elite forces smashing through the trap that she had placed. These men dared to defy her. They dared to abuse what she had given them and they dared to vanish without a trace, covering their tracks and killing all who would chase them down.

The lips of the most powerful woman in the world were thin and cold, her frown heavy, her eyes sparking frozen danger into the screens before her. These men...her pieces...they would not survive. She will capture them and she will make them regret ever being born into this world...her world.

Turning to face her quivering assistant, who flinched back from her intense gaze, the Administrator tapped out her cigarette. Cocking one eyebrow up and bringing her hands together, she spoke:

"Tell me, Miss Pauling. How do we deal with a big, ragtag bunch of foolish brutes?"

Silence met her. Good, the girl was learning, that question had been rhetorical, and woe betide anyone who interrupted her. A small smile that carried with it no warmth began to materialise on her features.

"It is really quite simple, so much so that perhaps, given enough time, even you could have thought of it. We get an even bigger foolish brute, of course. Contact him and tell him that Helen needs another favour..."

In the south and across the sea, in the heart of the technologically advanced deathtrap that is Australia, a man fights bare-handed against a mutated kangaroo as onlookers cheer and shout, proud moustaches clearly visible in the sun. But alas, the sport comes to an end with one final decisive blow and an interruption from one of the man's assistants, carrying a large, newfangled mobile phone.

A quick few words is all it takes. The crowd steps back and the newly-crowned King of Australia roars and charges into the distance with naught more but a single cry of...

_**"SAAAAAAAAAAAXTON HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALE!"**_

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><p><strong>End of chapter notes: <strong>So...totally not obvious foreshadowing there. And yes, the team has been named. Spent a long time on the names, trying to go for names that fit okay (in my eyes), had relevant meanings (not for all characters though) and actually fit the region everyone is from .  
>You may question my use of the BLU Engie's and Soldier's actual names whilst everyone else is fabricated. Bear with me. Yes, we know the Demoman's name and the Sniper's surname but only for RED. For the nature of this story, the classes have different names based on which team they were on and thus, despite their identical appearances, have different memories of their families and whatnot.<br>Where I'm going with this will be revealed...eventually.


	18. Heaven

**Author's notes:** Hoo boy, been going through a lot of stuff in RL over my two week holiday here. Isn't helping matters that I've managed to destroy all my laptop chargers recently and am thus temporarily borrowing a cable from until I can get another of my own. The laptop's battery is also in a poor state so I'm going to be without a computer for a little while.  
>This chapter was cut a little short (in part due to me needing to finish it there so I can return the cable ASAP, but mostly as what I've got planned will work better given a separate chapter) and ended up with a bit of a name change. Spacing may be a little weird, I seem to be having difficulties with it as of late. Apologies if this chapter is below my normal standard, I've really not been having a good time as of late and the muse has been most uncooperative.<p>

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><p><em><strong>Chapter 18: Heaven's tears, Unseen fears<strong>_

A deserted track in the middle of nowhere, a barren landscape devoid of life, where the wind was silent and tumbleweeds were frozen in place. The horizon is nothing more than a blurred mess of colours distorted by heat and dust, shifting before your very eyes, had you been there to see it. But at the moment there was not a soul there, the weathered track the only sign that civilisation had ever passed through this stretch of land.

A slight whisper rose up through the landscape, the tiniest disturbance, the only forewarning of further noise, of the wind beginning to pick up as clouds loomed in the distance. For another moment, the world was silent. For another moment, the wasteland was otherwise untouched by the influence of man. For another moment...

There was a sudden rush of air, the clattering noise of moving steel as an engine roared, fire churning in its belly as the contraption sped onwards, death nipping at its heels. The modified trailer, loaded with supplies and currently carting ten insane mercenaries jostled and shifted, the disused track bumping it to and fro. Hail after hail of bullets chewed though the land after them, punching holes that blew the resting dust back into the air, intensifying the haze. Missiles and bombs whined as they fell from the sky, setting the world alight with fiery explosions and scattered shrapnel.

A nearby explosion mangled the tracks and for a moment, threw the modified trailer into the air, the mercenaries suddenly airborne before crashing back down again. The men aboard didn't say a word at this, the chasing helicopters and bombers barely seeming more than a convenience, even as the trailer thundered on, looking as if it was in danger of shaking itself to pieces. After all, you could only be attacked like this so many times before it became another fact of life...

It had been just over one week since Team Fortress had made their initial escape from the twin bases of Teufort. The assault placed upon them when riding the rails had quickly forced them to adapt to the conditions, something they had done with shocking success as they continued their operations. They had been able to avoid detection within a disused base and had continued to plan and augment their weaponry from there. Despite the destruction of many of TF Industries supply routes they had somehow made their way to multiple bases both occupied and empty.  
>Said bases tended to be cleared out of anything useful, sometimes used temporarily as a new HQ of their own, before then being razed to the ground. Any resistance put up against the mercenaries was futile at best as they continued to destroy RED and BLU property and resist TF Industries best attempts to capture them. How they did this with their ramshackle, cobbled together weaponry and transport was something that continued to elude and infuriate both the Administrator and military officials.<p>

The team's tactics had so far been working fairly well, slowly chipping down the capabilities of their foe...not to mention slaughtering countless well trained soldiers and wrecking all sorts of military-grade hardware. They had been able to acquire intel of the Administrator's current operations, the military's next moves against them and with a bit of effort on the Spy's part, they now had informants within RED and BLU willing to aid these desperate men against their former employers.

Team Fortress had already become a legend. With the army, TF Industries, the police and other mercenaries all after them, their continued survival was nothing short of astonishing. Earlier attempts to keep their actions under wraps had quickly fallen apart and so the Administrator was forced to take things in the opposite direction: just about everyone in America now knew of them as the most dangerous men in the world with a mighty impressive bounty on each of their heads. The news had spread to the rest of the world, other militaries and bounty hunters quick to attempt to control this "extremely dangerous terrorist group".

A single bomber dove down, smashing its way through the air with its lumbering frame as it released its payload on the track ahead of the mercenary team, completely obliterating the land ahead and leaving naught but smoke and debris behind. Satisfied that its work was done for now, it rose back to the heavens as clouds approached in the distance. The bomber cast a great shadow over the Earth one last time as it eclipsed the Sun, before roaring away from the former tracks, circling in a great arc to return the way it came.

Jane Doe, former BLU Soldier, tilted his head back and glared at the continued assault from eyes cast in shadow beneath his helmet. Looking back to the other men once he then stood straight, staring at the additional oncoming bombers fearlessly as they grew on the edge of the horizon, coming closer and closer still.

"Alright men, this is it! These sorry excuses for men think that after all we've done, they can stop us just by throwing city-destroying weapons and aircraft at us! Their thick skulls can't seem to understand that we are unbeatable, we are indestructible, WE ARE _DEATH!_"

With a single motion he hefted a massive rocket launcher onto his shoulder, swinging his gaze back to the front of their improvised vehicle, where the two Engineers were at the controls.  
>"You two WILL take care of the minor problem ahead and then report back to me for area denial duty! Do you two UNDERSTAND ME?"<p>

Not even waiting for a response, he swung back to face the oncoming assault as helicopters emptied high-powered bullets into the area around them, several projectiles punching through the trailer itself even as others whizzed past his head, missing by mere inches. With a wild battle cry, he took aim and fired off volley after volley of rockets, each payload somehow never missing the mark.

Fire and twisted metal rained down from the skies above as similar battle cries chorused from the most dangerous men in the world.

Pipebombs were sent spiralling through the air in beautifully calculated parabolic arcs, detonating on rotor blades and smashing through windshields only to roll to a careful halt where they could cause the most damage.

Ewan Dougal, the team's expert demoman, merely gave a huge laugh of success from his orchestrated destruction, pausing only to take a quick swig from a nearby bottle and rush to the side of the vehicle to deflect an incoming missile with his reinforced shield, causing the explosive to instead detonate on the ground some distance away. The scent of ashes and detonations warmed his heart as he turned back to the battle.

Jack Martin, arguably the most accomplished sniper still in the world, merely stood firm despite the chaos and gunfire, miraculously keeping his aim steady as the trailer rocked to and fro, sputtering now and then. The Australian was mostly silent as he worked, with only the occasional mumbled remark betraying his professional façade.

Shot after shot was fired with inhuman precision and timing, his hand pulling back the bolt and deftly sliding in another high-calibre bullet with ease. Shot after shot rang out across the landscape, audible even over the chaos of war, head after head splattering into a fine red mist, helicopters veering off wildly and colliding in mid-air.

Fireballs spat out and slammed into cool steel, a red glow consuming the metal as it melted and deformed from repeated batterings of superheated attacks. Another fell to a stream of arcing fire, rotors cut into pieces like a hot blade through butter. The modified flamethrower swung around and with a powerful gust of air deflected missiles and even bombs away with practised ease.  
>Ashley, the mysterious pyromaniac, danced to and fro, weaving around their teammates with unusual skill and grace, darting to wherever they were needed, forming an impenetrable defence from projectiles. A powerful round skimmed their suit for a moment, causing a small piercing and a momentary stumble. Pain ignored, the Pyro continued their duty, muffled laughter barely audible as the very air itself seemed to burst into flames.<p>

In the centre of the vehicle a giant of a man stood with arms folded, eyes staring at the destruction carelessly before turning to the small, wiry-framed man who nervously stood beside him. A glance was passed followed by a nod from both parties, albeit the younger man seeming reluctant. With a beastial roar the massive Russian lifted the Scout and with a mighty motion flung the poor kid through the skies. A terrified scream echoed through the heavens before turning into a whoop of joy.

Kevin Sanders, the ever-talkative Scout, activated the stolen prototype jetpack on his back, retrieved from the last base they'd attacked. Wild laughter erupted from his huge mouth as he rocketed through the skies, barely more than a small blur as he dodged bullets and explosives from foe and friend alike. The enemy never knew what hit them as he swiftly went through their ranks, placing explosives on the outside of several assault craft before then dashing in from the side and knocking pilot and co-pilot alike unconscious with a boost from his jetpack and a cry of "BONK!"

The two Engineers, seemingly separated from the chaos, merely fiddle with the controls of their heavily-improvised vehicle before sharing an uncertain glance. Dell Conagher, formerly of BLU, voices the thought both he and his counterpart were thinking:

"Y'know, we've been able to use this at much slower speeds once manually removed from the rails, but we've never tested going straight into it, and never like this. Shouldn't we be worried?"  
>His ex-RED double merely grinned and flipped a bunch of switches before turning back to face Dell. The madman once known as Isaac Howard before the war began rolled his eyes behind his goggles, fire burning in his spirit as sure as the Earth revolves around the Sun.<p>

"All the better reason to test it, pardner. You ready to wipe the smile off their big, dumb faces?"

The pair merely laughed and in unison hit two final buttons, only at the last minute calling back to the rest of the team to hang on. With a sudden jolt the trailer leapt from the rails, wheels shifting, engine moving, steering controls activating before the two Engineers as Isaac took them for a spin, literally. Dodging weapons fire, he gunned the engine and sped off on a tangent, away from the route the tracks they had been following and narrowly avoiding the crater ahead formed by the earlier bombing.

Giving a thumbs-up of approval with his non-mechanical hand, Dell made his way to the rest of the team, seemingly apologetic for the sudden disruption that had thrown several of them to the ground. Peering into the skies above, he scowled at the ever-growing form of the fleet of bombers coming in, as well as the antics of the Scout spiralling out of control.

Resisting the urge to facepalm at the boy's antics, he simply sighed and yelled out for the boy to get back here. The Scout eventually did manage to return with only one minor incident (he ended up crashing into the Spy in a painful heap, but the Medic soon took care of that).

The towering Russian, known in his homeland as Grigori Borislav, was on the whole unfazed by the whole experience. After tossing the Scout into the air he had merely took a firm grip of his beloved minigun, Sasha, and spit death into the eyes of anyone foolish enough to come remotely close to the band of mercenaries. Even having their trailer leap from the tracks, spin and then speed off again over the bumpy, scorched wasteland did little to disrupt his dedicated defensive onslaught.

His bullets screamed across the wasteland, as did his own booming voice as he happily laughed away, the expensive ammunition even causing considerable damage to those far out of range merely caught by random bullet spread. Only when danger was incoming did he move his huge form, catching incoming projectiles not with a shield or with compressed air but with his own body, the bullets barely damaging the Heavy.

A labcoat mingled between the mercenaries, worn by a man of science as he whirled from one task to the next. One moment he was directing his beam on the dancing Pyro, another he was crouching behind the Heavy, then passing ammo to a nearby teammates, stopping briefly at a dispenser to dig out a bit of embedded shrapnel and allow the wound to heal. A brief look over at the Engineers at the helm and he was thrown to the floor.

Swiftly getting to his feet and adjusting his glasses the Medic, one Nils Reiniger, tutted in disapproval and narrowly avoided being hit by the Scout's crash landing. With a weary sigh, he set to work, swiftly repairing the runner's broken bones and reviving the unconscious Spy who'd had the misfortune to be used as a landing pad. His eyes carefully assessed the current situation before he was on the move once more, Medigun at the ready to help his team.

The Spy, preferring to merely be referred to as "Gabriel", had mostly been avoiding the action, instead providing his keen eyes and sense of danger to warn his colleagues of threats. He'd been staying mostly at the front of the vehicle, discussing plans and routes with the Engineers, trying to predict how to best get to a safe destination and avoid any traps along the way. Unfortunately the Frenchman, despite bracing himself for it, was flung into a heap by the sudden transfer from rail to the ground and was not impressed with the manoeuvre, carefully dusting himself off.  
>No sooner had he got his bearings again he received an even worse impact and was knocked into a much messier heap due to the rarely seen Air-to-Spy Scout missile. Now thoroughly in a mess, he gave his thanks to the Medic who'd saved him from a rather painful state and muttered darkly about the careless boy who'd barrelled into him, knife in hand. With a look of disdain he walked back to the front, retrieving a map from the inside of his suit.<p>

Dell Conagher set his hands first to repairing and erecting more dispensers for his team to use and secondly to set up an array of sentry turrets he could wrangle to put this whole encounter to an end. With Isaac at the controls of the vehicle and Gabriel helping navigate, he knew the team was in good hands for the moment. A sudden painful bump and a missile exploding nearby followed by an embarrassed holler of "Sorry fellas!" did put a slight dent in that theory however...

Shaking his head, he quickly got to work and with a flourish, pulled out his Wrangler, twirling it inbetween the mechanical fingers of the Gunslinger before smiling out at the fast approaching bombers. "Y'all about to have a real bad day..."

The bombers, the only remaining threat to the team, were swiftly and brutally dispatched. Rapid-fire machine gun rounds tore through their wings and spiralling groups of rockets impacted on their engines, causing the aircraft to fall apart and slowly crash down to their violent demise. Further detonations spread across their framework as they fell, their munitions exploding in chain reactions before impacting the ground. Fire and thunder screamed out as the earth below rumbled and shook in pain, the bombers coming to an end that threatened to blind any onlookers.  
>The mercenaries were bathed in light and heat, their ears ringing even as they sped away, Isaac keeping his eyes fixed ahead even as his teammates took in the sight of destruction they had caused across this once peaceful landscape. As the light faded, darkness fell. A shadow was cast upon them by the clouds above as they swarmed in, blotting out the sun. The heavens thundered and growled above the once again silent world.<p>

And with no further warning, the heavens wept. Its first tears hit the ground one by one and soon enough there was a flurry of them, the mercenaries powering along as the sorrow of the skies bore down upon them. They stood in silence, slowly getting drenched to the core, taking a moment to themselves.

A moment to reflect on all they had done both in the war and now in their battle for freedom. A moment to consider their actions, to wish things were different, that life had dealt them a different hand. A moment to harden their gaze and look forwards, ready for the difficulties ahead.

Isaac, the Crimson Demon, set his jaw firm as he drove on through the downpour, only moving slightly to adjust the steering or use a gauntlet-covered hand to carefully wipe the moisture from his goggles. As thunder rolled around them and lightning shot down, he shuddered. A bad omen, felt in his bones. The lightning struck down once more, piercing into the world below and for a brief instant, a shadow was illuminated in the distance, his fear given shape.

The men thought themselves ready for the task ahead. They gave themselves a moment to contemplate and relax a little in the cold rain that beat down upon them. They believed that for now, the fight was over. They were wrong.

He came from nowhere like a demon possessed, leaping through the air as the lightning illuminated him once more. With a roar that shook the hardened mercenaries to the core, the beast swung one massive arm, clenched his fingers into the form of a fist and unleashed his might.

A different kind of thunder smashed through the modified trailer, tearing through it, the air pressure alone exploding the metal into scrap and shrapnel, flung outwards through sheer force. A growl like no other continued in his throat as he came to a landing, the vehicle completely stopped and the mercenaries within flung into the cold air abruptly. A pause and then each one landed with a satisfying thud as the man simply looked on.

The man wore little more than a hat with a ring of teeth on it, a pair of shorts and his ass-kicking boots. Upon his chest his body hair aligned themselves perfectly to form the shape of his homeland of Australia. He placed his hands on his hips and laughed as the mercenaries carefully struggled to their feet.

"You call yourselves _men_? I see nothing here but a bunch of spineless, pathetic** HIPPIES**!"

The laughter of Saxton Hale, deranged CEO of Mann CO, boomed through the world, silencing even the thunderous cries of the heavens, the rain relenting ever so slightly at the mere appearance of this man amongst men. Eyes glinting with danger, he bound forwards once more, fist pulled back as he sailed through the air, an unmistakeable aura of terror shredding it's way through every mercenaries heart as he roared once more...


	19. Austrailian Fury!

**Author notes:** Yet another chapter which ended up becoming longer than I planned for and thus something that was originally going to be in this chapter will have to wait until the next. Thankfully I found a good place to split it off and considering that this is (to the best of my knowledge) the longest chapter yet, it was perhaps best to stop there and not spend even longer on getting this done!  
>To any Australians, I apologise for any inconsistencies with the real Australia, but the country in the TF2 universe is very much different and I felt a bit of freedom with it as a result. Likewise, I decided to take Saxton Hale and...well, I took some creative liberties with both. Hopefully neither this nor anything else will ruin the chapter for anyone...^^;<p>

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter 19: Australian Fury!<strong>_

One by one, the team of ten mercenaries, wanted the world over for daring to defy their former master, rose to their feet, weapons at the ready. Their eyes stared unblinking at the sight before them, of the bare-chested glory that was Saxton Hale: CEO of Mann Co, recently-crowned King of Australia and without a doubt the strongest man on the planet.

Australia was known for producing hairy, muscular men that have more beers and brawls than common sense. The nation's population was all potentially lethal killing machines, whether human or otherwise, widely believed to be an effect of the ultra-rare transformative element known only as Australium. Even the land itself was reflective of this lethality, with weary rough terrain, unrelenting onslaughts of heat, countless miles of barren wasteland, deadly tangled rainforests all bursting full of disasters waiting to happen.

Even the flora and fauna that lived there had learned to survive, not by clever trickery or fleeing but by killing everything they come into contact with. From the Gympie-gympie, a seemingly innocent shrub with the toxicity to kill human or horse alike as it sends them to a painful death, to the animals hardy enough to eat the toxic leaves without a care, to the infamous saltwater crocodile and even the iconic kangaroo proves its worth in property damage. Even if one should try to escape the deathtrap by fleeing the land, the surrounding waters have more than enough to show the foolishness of doing so, with the powerful venom of the box jellyfish, the sneaky stone fish and the almighty jaws of a great white shark.

Amidst this land of near-certain death and hyper-advanced technology developed with the use of Australium, one man stands above all the rest. With one of the most successful companies in the world, a mass producer of countless weapons of destruction, an involvement in the RED vs. BLU conflict and a strength few Australians could match...

This man is Saxton Hale, a man whose mighty strength and great idiocy combined drives him to fight the world single-handedly with naught but his bare hands...and for all the advancements in teleportation, cloaking, automated turrets and weaponry, he takes on the world and WINS. Capable of leaping through the air as if launched from a catapult, of running day and night without rest, of shrugging off conventional weaponry as a normal man would an annoying fly, responsible for more extinctions than all other causes combined...

The Australian looked at the mercenaries for a single moment, eyeing them up before with a broad smile he took a step forward and charged, roaring with savage fury:  
><strong>"WELCOME TO DA TUTORIAL LEVEL!"<strong>

His cry confused the mercenaries and for a brief, almost-fatal moment, they hesitated. All but the Soldier, his own insanity on par with Hale's, who raised his rocket launcher and matched the Australian's feral smile with a deadly grin of his own, the cannon spitting explosive death that caught the shirtless man dead in the centre of his chest. Not pausing as this shot slowed his foe's charge, Jane fired again, the projectile on a direct cause for the ground just by Hale's feet, launching the Mann Co CEO into the sky.

Another rocket, trailing smoke and the stench of war, impacted against the airborne enemy, juggling him even higher. Taking the slightest moment to predict his target's path, the former BLU shot off his last rocket as Saxton impacted the ground, obscured in a cloud of dust and smoke. The Soldier prepared to load his next rocket and was thus taken by surprise when an enraged Hale appeared from the cloud and smacked the weapon out of his hand. Eyes widening in surprise before narrowing in anger beneath his helmet, Jane stepped back from the blow, drawing his double-barrelled Super Shotgun and unleashing a powerful spread of painful buckshot at point-blank range into the Australian's bare flesh, the force of the recoil alone causing the Soldier to slide back on the dusty earth as the heavens continued to cry down upon them.

If Saxton even felt the impact he didn't show it, drawing back a single fist with the intent of knocking the mercenary's head clean off. Jane knew, as time seemed to slow down, that he was going to die. Fingers fumbling with the shells that seemed to deal no damage against the monster of a man he was fighting, legs desperately cartwheeling backwards, he knew it was too late. Hale's fist drew ever closer, the hairy knuckles seemingly containing the anticipating face of Death himself.

A powerful blast of compressed air roared out from the modified flamethrower, sending the Australian flying off to one side as the Soldier looked silently to the masked face of the Pyro. A shared nod between them and the Soldier scrambled off to recover and load his rocket launcher as Ashley pulled down on the tertiary trigger, a brilliant stream of burning liquid arcing out and into the recovering Hale, setting the man alight. Moustache and chest hair aflame in the darkness cast by the thundering clouds overhead, he made a step forward only to stop as the last pipebomb came to a stop by his feet. Looking over at the Demoman, Fusion pipebomb launcher in hand, the Scotsman gave a hearty laugh before detonating his trap, launching Saxton backwards and upwards in an explosion of fire and dust and steam and smoke.

Landing with a painful thud on his rear, steam rising from his scorched and still burning body, he attempted to get up and turn his fury against his prey. Snarling and ready to pounce towards his next target, he was immediately drawn to the imposing form of the Heavy Weapons Guy. Grigori merely stared unblinkingly and with his own feral roar, he put Sasha to work, the expensive ammunition embedding itself into Hale's frame, in some cases even drawing blood. He still advanced, albeit much slower, his muscular body and minimal damage caused by the minigun defying all logic and reasoning.

As focused as he was with the Heavy, it was understandable that he'd miss the speedy form of the Scout, strafing and pelting him with high-velocity nails from his nailgun. The nails mostly bent and crumpled against Hale's tough physique but all the same they left the mark and got his attention. Distracted by the Boston sprinter's antics, he didn't notice the Spy loading a tranquilliser gun, taking aim and firing. The powerful sedative, ten times stronger than conventional horse tranquillisers, combined with the relentless assault from the Heavy and Scout merely slowed the Australian further.

Dodging a wild swing as Hale trudged on forwards, trying to deal with this assault from all sides, Kevin dropped a flash-bang grenade by his foe's feet before taunting as he double-jumped away. Slowed and worn down by the explosions, bullets, nails, fire and sedative now working through his blood stream and now blinded, Saxton stopped, clutching his eyes with one hand as he roared in anger, swiping wildly with the other arm. A safe distance away, now certain of his shot, the Sniper held his prized rifle scope to his eye, finger twitching by the trigger.

A single crack was heard through the drenched landscape as a high-calibre round broke the sound barrier and blew itself through one of Hale's kneecaps. Howling in pain he fell to one knee, blood oozing its way into the already damp earth. Rockets and pipebombs bombarded him, fire streaming through the air and licking its way through his skin slowly and agonizingly. Bullets and nails and further doses of sedative found their way into his body, buying the time Jack needed as he lined up his next shot, rifle fully charged.

With one final shot whistling through the tense air it found itself striking his target, a perfect shot between the eyes, burrowing itself through the Australian's skull. All eyes looked on as it shot out the other end, momentum greatly reduced by the thick cranium it had penetrated. Silently and slowly, the King of Australia's eyes widened and his body fell limp, his form just barely upright on one knee, face hidden in shadow beneath his hat as his head hung loosely.

For a moment, the rain ceased and breaths were held, the Medic standing by the Heavy's side and the two Engineers by the damaged vehicle of theirs that Hale had upturned. Time passed and sighs of relief were exhaled, light rain dancing on the ground once more.

For the second time, the team made a near-fatal mistake.

With a roar of pure primal fury, of fire and brimstone and demons personified and given life, the beast known as Saxton Hale rose, breathing heavily, eyes burning with hellish rage. Pulling his hands into firm fists once more, he stood tall on both feet and lifted his hands into the air, the very earth seeming to tremble before his might. Seemingly ignoring the hole through his head, the destruction of his knee and the damage wreaked upon him that not even a monster should have survived, he levelled his gaze across to the mercenaries once more as if seeing them for the first time.

**"STOP RIGHT THERE!"**

They all felt it, some strange electricity coursing through their body, a deathly touch across the spine, an intense irrational fear that ceased all higher-level function in their minds. They had felt this touch before on the occasions that the war had brought them to haunted battlefields but this...this was beyond that. They simply had to obey, as much as the deep-rooted animalistic instincts in them screamed for them to run, to flee, to abandon friends and family if it meant survival. It was less the voice of a man as it was the sound of Death himself, suddenly given voice and reflecting countless eons of rage and bloodlust.

The world's most dangerous men stood there, paralysed and quivering with fear as the Australian came towards them. His slow plodding pace became a jog and that jog became a charge. Like deer caught in headlights they were simply frozen, until his fist drew back and the spell was suddenly broken.

Jane was knocked flying by the blow, weapons and helmet alike scattered to the winds as he skidded, kicking up a cloud of dust and water before coming to a stop. He didn't get up.

Hale merely turned to his next victim, his intense gaze settling on the form of the Demoman. Single eye wide in terror, the Scotsman desperately fired pipebombs in the direction of the Australian, who took the powerful explosives with barely a falter in his stride before leaping through the air, almost covering the distance between him and his target in a single bound.  
>"Taste the <strong>explosive<strong>power of my fists!"

Ewan dropped his weapon, raising his shield and sword in vain as Saxton's full thunderous weight and power bore down upon him, not merely knocking him to the ground but causing the mercenary to bounce, landing with a painful thud. Blood flew from his mouth with the impact and then he was still.

The rest of team looked upon the two motionless forms of their comrades and fought the overwhelming urge to run to the hills. Their battle was in vain. One by one, despite their best efforts, they fell to the Australian's infinite fury.

Streaming arcs of fire, compression blasts, screaming fireballs and intense cones of fire did little to save the Pyro who was punched in the gut and then flung aside like a ragdoll with nothing more than a derisive snort of "You fight like a **woman**!" from Mann Co's CEO. The only consolation Ashley had as they lost conciousness was that some definitely painful burns had found their way onto the CEO's skin.

The Heavy slowed Hale as best he could, standing protectively in front of the Medic. His protectiveness was rewarded with a series of near-crippling blows the tore Sasha from his grasp. His own anger clashing with this furious enemy, Grigori emptied the full thunderous death his Quad Shotgun could muster before being kicked to ground.

With the Medic nowhere to be seen, finally fleeing his closest friend in the team, Hale looked down at the Russian, boot at the ready. A surprised exclamation of "Are you **really** the strongest man on your team?" was all the Heavy heard before a powerful boot crashed into his head and his world became dark.

Nails were knocked out of the air and even the incredible knockback of the modified Force-A-Nature barely slowed Saxton's bull-like charge as he chased the Scout, who eventually decided the recoil was better suited to trying to escape rather than attempting to fight this monster. Kevin's attempts at flight were short-lived however, as he swiftly found himself face-to-face with Saxton in the air, the Australian's single bound easily matching the frantic efforts of the runner.  
>The Scout found himself plucked of the air by his legs, dragged back down with the hefty mass of Australian fury that was Saxton Hale and repeatedly smacked into the ground before then being casually flung over Saxton's shoulder. Kevin landed in a crumpled, bloody mess, his hyperactive heart beating the slowest it had ever beaten before.<p>

The Spy, overcome with frozen anger himself, appeared from thin air behind Hale, knife at the ready. Eyes full of unending hatred for the oblivious man before him, he plunged his blade expertly into the Australian's spine, the blade piercing through the seemingly bullet-proof flesh and embedding itself with open malice. A groan of pain escaped Hale's throat and Gabriel allowed himself a smug smile...until that moan became a _chuckle_.

Whirling around, Hale swung a backhanded blow towards the Frenchman, his wristwatch slamming into the Spy's skull and leaving only a corpse behind. With a declaration of "This watch was invented at Mann Co specifically to kill you **twice**!" Hale ignored the corpse at his feet and instead pulled the knife out of his back, eyes darting to and fro. Finally, he settled on a seemingly random point in the air and threw the knife forward with incredible force, the blade embedding itself in Gabriel's chest as his cloak flickered and deactivated. He fell slowly and silently to the ground, eyes wide in shock, the fake corpse fading away.

The Sniper abandoned his rifle, instead launching strong crossbow bolts into his fellow Australian's powerful frame. The arrows got lodged in key joints, impairing movement for a moment before they snapped; the broken remains embedded in his flesh of no concern for the King of Australia. More bolts flew through the air only to be swatted aside with ease. Hale didn't even bother to properly charge at Jack, his pace far more _leisurely,_like a morning jog, as he came closer and closer.

Jack swore to himself, drawing his dual pistols and firing round after round directly into Hale's skull. Bullet after bullet bounced off, bent out of shape and useless on the ground below. A single round hit near the hole made by the earlier rifle round and caused Hale to blink. But it wasn't enough and soon enough the Sniper was just another body left out in the rain. The King looked down on his fellow countryman and sneered: "You may be Australian, but you're not half the **man** I am."

And then there were only three remaining. Dell, Isaac and Nils shivered as the wind picked up, the Medics beam trained on the former BLU Engineer as he set up his array of Sentries, modified or otherwise. Isaac was applying his wrench with controlled haste at the now upright vehicle that would serve for their escape, weapons platform and recovery point. He didn't even bother looking back at the other two as a shiver ran through his spine.

"He's coming this way."

It wasn't a question. He didn't need to ask, he could feel the sheer fear from the other two as they faced the oncoming monster. Silently, the former RED continued to make adjustments to the damaged trailer, weapons ready and waiting for the moment to come. Dell set his jaw tightly, eyes taking in the sight of this miserable landscape, of the relentless rain, of the dead land, of the bodies of his closest friends, of the madmen who ran towards them, savage smile etched onto his stupid face.

His hands, one organic and one mechanical, held the upgraded Frontier Justice, their trembling betraying his inner state of mind. The shotgun glowed and sparked in the darkness with the need for revenge. Revenge not for his fallen creations like it had in the past, but vengeance for his teammates.

Isaac glanced over at Vengeance, his own modified shotgun, likewise sparking with a terrible power. He gave a silent look to the stricken Nils, the Medic's tears still wet on his cheeks. The German snapped back into reality and nodded back, turning to face Hale once more as he trailed the Life Sparker beam onto Dell, the Übercharge meter almost at 100%.

The Crimson Demon paused for a moment as the sound of gunfire tore through the air once more, a strange symphony of bullets, beeps, explosions and flickering flames. He turned back to his work, putting the sound of battle behind him out of his mind, the glow of a nearby dispenser lighting the components and metal before him.

The Engineer and Medic stood at the rear of the vehicle, bodies tense and ready as they overlooked the carnage before them. Multiple level three Sentries spat mechanical death at the enraged Hale, the combined fury of the gattling turrets and rockets preventing the nigh-invulnerable Australian from approaching any further. Additional modified turrets instead launched explosive fireballs in precisely calculated arcs, the bursts of flame created forcing Hale back even further. Snarling, growling and in pain, the King of Australia changed his tactics.  
>With little more warning then a cry of "<strong>BRAVE JUMP!<strong>" he flew through the air with a powerful jump. Dutifully, the turrets tracked his motion, pelting him with all they had. But for all their valiant efforts, not even machines are perfect. The firebombs and rockets were unable to hit Hale and even the powerful knockback generated by the mostly accurate bullets were not enough to stop his momentum.

Landing with enough force to bounce the vehicle and send it rolling forwards, Saxton crushed the Sentries with nothing more than his bare hands, fingers gripping into the metal as if it was dough in his hands. Ripping and tearing, it didn't matter that he was pushed back, he'd done enough damage. With their firepower greatly reduced, the onslaught of defensive attacks were now only enough to slow him, not enough to stop him.

With each powerful, slow and plodding step of his mighty boots, he gained ground. Grinding his teeth together, Dell looked over his shoulder at the still-working Isaac and yelled "It's now or never Tex!" before facing Hale and pulling the trigger.

A mighty jolt of energy and the shotgun bucked in the Texan's hands, the spread of highly charged pellets still managing to find their mark. Hopping down from the modified trailer, Nils following closely behind and both backed up by the continued efforts of the Sentry turrets, the Engineer unloaded the rest of his loaded shells into the monster before him, Hale howling in pain from the combined retaliation.

Pausing to load more ammunition into the still-sparking Frontier Justice, Dell felt the pulse of the medigun pull away from him as Nils covered him with the modified Blutsauger, crying out for Grigori and the rest of the team as the toxin-loaded needles drained into Hale's muscles. With a mighty cry the Australian staggered back before scraping up a huge handful of gravel, dirt and stone in one hand and hurling it at the Engineer and Medic.

Despite being mere small stones and gravel, when powered by the force of Saxton's large arm, the small projectiles proved to be damaging enough, with Dell taking the brunt of the damage, doubling over from the pain as his armour was dented and bruises formed across his body. Growling, he raised himself up again, feeling the pain vanish in a mixture of anger and the warm glow of the medigun once more healing him. Another storm of three shells, each pelting loaded with the essence of vengeance, tore into Hale before the battle became a lot quieter.

The bombardment from the remaining Sentries had stopped, the usual gunfire and explosions instead replaced with a few beeps and a horrible clicking sound as the machines attempted to fire ammunition they no longer had. Nils and Dell merely glanced at each other, the Medic's hand twitching, considering releasing the now ready Übercharge if it meant survival.

Instead they heard the sound of an engine roaring into life, a cry of "Get in fellas!" and the revving of a chaingun as it came to life. Isaac, the Crimson Demon, released a furious barrage of fiery death in the general direction of the Australian King, eyes flaring beneath his goggles as his other hand grasped his wrench. Still not taking his eyes off Hale, attempting to pursue Dell and Nils, he wordlessly replenished the ammo of the Sentries and slowly repaired them of any damage.

The fleeing Engineer fired out once more, the sparking power fading from the weapon. The Medic continued to backpedal, firing off the toxin-carrying needles at Hale before leaping onto the repaired vehicle and holding a hand out to Dell. Isaac ceased firing his chaingun, transforming his arm back to normal as he replaced his wrench with his shotgun, Vengeance.

With a powerful blast of retribution that put the thunder in the sky to shame, the Australian was pushed back. Nils pulled Dell aboard and the pair retreated to behind the defensive machines, the Engineer ready to lay down more defences as needed. He expected the former RED to step back and help him fortify the vehicle. Instead, Isaac continued to blast Hale, alternating between thunderous might and fiery assaults, the force of his weapons and the newly-replenished buildings pushing Saxton further back and causing the beast to stumble, cuts and bruises finally visible on his burnt and dusty body.

The Crimson Demon didn't look at the two others of Team Fortress still standing, his eyes hidden behind his goggles still clearly on the figure of the recovering Australian.

"You two continue with the plan without me. Get the rest of the guys onto the trailer and see if we can't get them healed up, I'll buy you some time."

The German frowned at this, clearly not satisfied with the situation.

"And what of you, Herr Howard? You don't expect us to leave you behind...!"

The Engineer said nothing to that, merely reloading his shotgun before looking back at the two worried mercenaries.

"Get the team together, then worry about me. Don't you worry about me doc, it'll take more than this thick-skulled brute to put this Texan _down-under._"

Nothing more was said, Nils merely took cautious control of the vehicle as Dell glanced back at Isaac one last time before placing down another Sentry and getting some more Dispensers up for their teammates. The ex-RED leapt off the vehicle almost causally, his heavy frame kicking up both dirt and water with his landing, the droplets reflecting the sudden flash of nearby lightning as they flew through the air.

The modified trailer drove off, the defences growing silent as they lost sight of their former target, the two aboard frantically hoping with all their might that they would not be too late, that there'd still be lives to save. And the Demon...he merely stared at the Beast licking his wounds and felt the fire grow stronger.

The cocking of a shotgun, the crashing thunder, the ever present downpour of now-torrential rain washing dirt and dust away, the heavy breathing of the Beast. The earth beneath them crunched beneath their footsteps and the wind howled in anticipation, whistling past the figures lit only by their own burning blood and the strikes of fierce lightning.

Saxton Hale, CEO of Mann Co and King of Australia, laughed in the face of the man who comes to challenge him one-on-one.

"Reading _books_ doesn't win you fights, **cowboy**. FISTS DO!"

His declaration done with, the Beast launches himself back, both hands primed for pummelling. The Demon matches the Beast's battle cry with an almighty pained roar of his own, thrusters kicking into life as he darted forward, sparking fury ready to be unleashed once more into the world of mortals...


	20. Life and Death

**Author's notes:** A bit shorter than some previous chapters and once again I find myself leaving on an evil cliffhanger. Ah well, no helping it. I've checked over and fixed a few errors and tried to clean-up some of the paragraph/space destroying uploading this seems to cause but apologies if I missed anything. Trying out using #'s to mark out anywhere which would have a large gap if the site stopped eating them.  
>I'd like to give a massive thank you to everyone who's left a review! I had no idea so many people would end up reading this, let alone giving it such high praise. I will try my best not to disappoint everyone after such wonderful support and motivation to keep on going. You guys rock!<p>

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><p><em><strong>Chapter 20: Life and Death<strong>_

Demon and Beast, their fates now inescapably interlinked, stand alone before the full brunt of the heavy heart of the heavens themselves. Both with their own motivations, their own drive, their own burning spirits that pushes them to the impossible. Two mortal souls who dare to defy the gods, who reject their fates, who dare to look death in the eyes and laugh.

A crimson demon enraged by the senselessness of war, blood stains soaked into his mind, unwilling to lose what little he has left...

A savage beast the world could not tame, death being his trade and conflict his life, sent here solely to tear apart his prey...

The pair launched themselves at each other, wind rippling away as they both pulled their hands back, clenched into fists of steel and seeming to halt time itself as they were forced to meet. Reinforced metal met hard flesh and the world trembled, a crater blown into the ground before their feet, an explosion of wind and dust blown away as they struggled.

Fist had met fist in perfect unison, arms trembling to overpower the other, Isaac's teeth clenched together as he matched Hale's strength as best he could. The Australian had the grace to be surprised that someone was able to meet his fist and hold him in place...but the surprise was fleeting, and soon replaced with a snarl. The pair added power to their struggle for but a moment more before both pushed on the other and leapt back, sliding to a halt as they kicked the dirt into the air again.

There was no pause before they leapt forward again, the Beast's muscles tensing and unleashing their power as he sailed through the air, the Demon's thrusters burning with hellish fury as he sprung upwards to meet his foe. There was a crack of almighty thunder, a spark of electricity surging through the very air they breathed as the pair flew past each other and landed with an almighty crunch.

Hale briefly glanced down at his abdomen where Vengeance had struck, noting the damage caused with a mixture of delight and respect. Isaac nursed his own chest for a moment, the glancing blow of the Australian barely scraping him and yet it had certainly left its mark upon the armoured Texan.

Twisting around, the Engineer growled as his left arm transformed back into the chaingun, the growl becoming a roar as he unleashed fiery pain into the Mann Co CEO. Beneath those forever-dark goggles his eyes narrowed as the bullets impacted flesh, the hot ammunition creating steam in its wake as it pierced through the rain, the spinning barrel of his weapon illuminating the nearby land as surely as the lightning strikes on the horizon.

Saxton took the blow in his stride, swivelling his body as the bullets hit one side, moving his legs as he did so. With his rotation aided by the knockback of the bullets, he suddenly shot one foot forwards across the ground with full force, kicking up a maelstrom of dirt and stone towards the former RED. His prey, visibility impaired temporarily and raising both arms to protect his face from the shrapnel, not given the time to transform the chaingun back, did not see the Australian bound into the air again, both arms raised above his head, ready to bury him into the ground forever.

But it did not come to pass. Isaac jumped back at the last moment, arm transforming back and both hands cradled Vengeance once more, fire burning in his blood even as Hale crashed down before him, the blow missing and striking the earth, shaking the very ground at their feet before cracking it apart, a zig-zag line of destruction running past the Engineer, who rolled to the side before the crack could reach him. The Beast raised his head, turning to face the Demon, the latter raising himself and bringing his weapon. The heavens intervened with fury of its own, sharp bolts of lightning narrowly missing the pair as the Beast adopted a ready stance and the Demon unleashed the charged shells of revenge once more.

There was no one to witness this battle of furious killing intent, this clash of wills, the savagery of human spirit as the land shuddered and broke apart beneath them piece by piece. There was no one to feel the sharp rushes of wind, the cold embrace of the falling rain, to see the very carrier of life itself be carelessly splashed onto the barren earth. There was no one for miles...except for two other men and their fallen comrades in a desperate battle of their own.  
>A battle against time. A battle against odds. A battle against <em>death<em>.

###

Dell and Nils did their best to ignore the sounds of the distant battle, audible even from this distance; the pair shaking as their eyes darted to and fro, searching. The former BLU Engineer had setup a circle of level three dispensers and had taken over from the Medic in steering the recently repaired motorised trailer, the latter now using his eyesight and memory of the previous battle to locate the rest of their team. Both hoped with all their might that they weren't too late.

But alas, the task was not an easy load for them to carry, for all their hope they knew their chances were slim. The flashes of lightning that were now so frequent it almost seemed as if some deity was doing so on purpose both helped and hindered them, the light helpful for noticing any dark shapes on the ground, but it was also blinding. And with the danger they faced, they needed their vision to pierce the darkness and chaos to survive.

The barren landscape was a deathtrap of craters and flaming wreckage. This area had hardly been a smooth ride even before Team Fortress had made their presence known on the nearby train tracks, but with the addition of countless flaming husks of downed aircraft, additional debris and shrapnel, the near-misses of lightning strikes and the cold rain pooling in places...

Needless to say, their desperately racing ride was a bumpy one, not exactly helped by the small earthquakes undoubtedly caused by the battle between Saxton and Isaac. Dell tried to push that thought away from his mind but instead his grip on the controls tightened, his gaze cold and hard. He gulped and felt his heart beat harder still as his ears strained to hear the otherworldly cries of pain and roars in the distance.

He felt an incredible pain weigh down upon his soul at the thought of his fellow Engineer. The man had already lost so much, had fought against impossible odds, found it in his heart to forgive the former members of BLU and now, gave them one last shot at escape, knowing full well that there may not be anything left of him for them to come back for. Still, as much as he felt the urge to shut his eyes and offer a silent prayer for the other Texan, he instead found himself slowing the vehicle to a halt, the Medic leaping out before it had even stopped, dashing for the prone form of their Soldier.

Dell was about to chase after the doctor before something caught his eye. Noticing the scattered weapons and seeing that the Medic was lost in his work, checking Jane's vitals, he brought the equipment back to the vehicle before lending Nils a hand at carefully placing the unconscious man near a dispenser. He watched silently as Nils trained his medigun on the American, his thoughts returning to Isaac, his mind instead displaying the Crimson Demon who had torn through BLU like they were nothing, the man who had stared unblinkingly at the possibility of Death without fear.

###

Isaac stumbled and fell down to one knee, still attempting to fire the overheating chaingun at the broad form of the man who stood before him so casually. A warning appeared on his goggles and with a whir and an angry frown, he deactivated the weapon before he damaged it, his mechanical arm cradling his battered right. Looking up with that smouldering fury, the Engineer made his decision even as Hale strolled up towards him, chuckling.

The battle had been going well at first, he'd been able to deal some degree of damage to the savage Australian and it seemed that Hale's own incredible rage that had driven him to unleash such fury against his team had died down. With the rage drained he'd been able to land even more attacks that should have been enough to destroy any other man.

But Saxton Hale was no other man and soon Isaac had found himself knocked to the ground or into the air more and more. Even the glancing blows or mere scrapes caused him to erupt into pain and now it was clear that even with the healing of the Level Four Dispenser and his own resolve, his body couldn't take much more. The few direct hits Hale had managed to land on him had completely punched through his armour, broken bones, and likely done some serious internal damage too.

The Australian looked down at the sight before him, the Texan coughing blood onto the waterlogged dirt. The CEO of Mann Co, for all his own wounds, smiled, laughing his booming laugh that could be heard for miles around. The rain ran down his muscles, dancing on countless burns and bruises, wiping what little blood of his own was still on his skin away.

"I haven't had a fight this good in ages, but in the end, you picked a fight with the wrong man. Those other hippies on your team are all dead or fleeing like the little girls they are..."

The glare Isaac shot at Hale could have cut through steel at the mention of his teammates but all it did was make the savage brute laugh once more before he picked up the Engineer by his head, helmet and all. They both stared for a moment before the Australian brought his captive audience far too close to his face, a toothy grin all too visible at this distance.

"Now...it's just you, me and my bare hands."

To the Beast's surprise, the Demon in his grasp laughed a horribly eerie laugh that seemed to echo all around him before matching his grin with a hellish smirk of his own.

"Let's do this Texas style!"

And with no more warning beyond that, he unleashed Death into the world once more.

###

A lone vehicle trundled to a bumpy stop, the two conscious occupants leaping out and running as they avoided the puddles, which in this light could have been water or blood, skidding to a sad stop by the mess of a body on the ground. Silently, the duo nodded sombrely, the shorter figure gently laying the body out on his back as the taller man leaned down, listening. A sad shake of the head and the shorter one bowed his head, the rain beating down on his back and masking the tears that flowed so freely down his face, past his goggles and to the drenched world below.

A gasp caused him to lift his head, his companion listening to the body once more. Their gazes met and with a slow nod they carefully carried their comrade to the modified trailer, placing him softly on the ground as beams of healing light, both from several nearby dispensers and the nozzle of the Life Sparker medigun.

"How are they all, doc?"

The Medic paused in answering the Engineer, trying to think of how to best answer as he left his beam trailed on the battered body of the Scout. Nils eventually decided on simply giving the blunt and honest truth, his colleague had seen enough to already guess, it didn't take a crazy doctor to tell that times were dark.

"...zhey are all just barely alive, at least for the moment. For some, that even the slightest spark still flows through zheir bodies is in itself a miracle, testament to their fight against the reaper himself, my hard-hatted friend."

The pair looked on in silence at the collected bodies of their teammates lying in the circle of dispensers, many chests moving with only the shallowest of breaths and others not seeming to move at all. The rain itself seemed to decrease in intensity to acknowledge these fallen warriors, the thunder that had rolled overhead holding its tongue, the heavens showing their own recognition for the mercenaries. The silence continued, with even the sounds of battle from afar having ceased.

Each mercenary was stubbornly clinging onto life with all their might, but even the healing rays of the technology at hand and the expertise of the Medic had their limits.

The Soldier had suffered a severe blow to the head and had several ribs shattered, amongst other damages, making him one of the least wounded of the team. With a little more time he'd likely regain consciousness and likely insist on fighting despite his injuries.

The Demoman had internal bleeding that had since been stopped by the healing rays and had extreme damage caused to his spine. He'd managed to avoid too much damage to his nervous system but there was a possibility of waking up paralysed, and were he in a mere hospital rather than in the Medic's care, he may stay that way.

Analysis of the Pyro was difficult, as Nils was wary of the enigmatic mercenary's requests not to have the suit or mask removed. In the past, he had always abided by this as best he could and he tried to do the same here, making only several small incisions into the suit to access the skin. The firebug appeared to be having some of the worst difficulties in breathing and was strangely cold beneath the suit.

The Heavy, for all his ability to normally shrug off injuries, had his legs broken and his skull cracked open. The large tear in his forehead had since been healed and the Russian had lost a lot of blood, but was otherwise relatively unharmed. The extent of damage to his brain from the ferocious stomping was yet to be determined, however.

The Spy had his own knife embedded in his chest, the weapon narrowly missing his heart, but one of his lungs had been punctured and had been filling with blood. He too appeared to have taken a blow to the head, albeit a much lesser one. The Frenchman's heart was nonetheless beating rather pathetically, his suit stained with blood.

It was strange how the Sniper's hands had been crushed around his pistols, the bones clearly broken and his arms bent the wrong way. Hard breathing suggested that he'd fallen unconscious from being strangled, and countless bruises and broken ribs hinted at the punishment Hale had given his fellow Australian.

But it was the still form of the Scout that drew the most attention. Recovered last, the boy had almost been marked as dead before the slightest pulse of his heart had been detected, weakly struggling. With help from the Engineer, the boy had started breathing once more, but even with this, it was doubtful the runner would survive.

He'd been in a bloody crumpled mess, his muscles torn, countless bones broken and his limbs sprawled out in directions they shouldn't. The Scout had been reduced to little more than a tattered ragdoll that had yet to realise it was dead.

Nils noted that his mind had taken on a cold edge, addressing the men by their class and considering their chances and his options in a detached manner. In the beginning of the war he had taken few chances with his own life, often abandoning his teammates to their death when times were hard. As he'd grown closer to his team, he still found that sometimes, for victory, it was better to abandon his patients, preserve his Über and then strike back later.

Still, putting a price on their lives, even with Respawn in place, was not something he enjoyed. Looking at them now, he knew that some lives could be saved now if he ignored the others and he asked Dell to leave this place at full haste. That would mean leaving several members of the team behind to die so that he could not be distracted by their bodies as he worked, and that a certain ex-RED would be sacrificed too.

Catching Dell's eye, they both looked out at the silent landscape, the lack of noise between Hale and Isaac speaking volumes as they bowed their heads and considered their options. The Engineer repeatedly opened his mouth to speak only to shut it again, unsure of what to say. He knew what had to be done, the turmoil that tore through the Medic beneath that cold exterior. As much as it pained him, logically, leaving those least likely to survive behind and focusing their full efforts on those likely to survive made sense, as did getting the hell out of here.

Knowing this, he bit his lip as Nils shut his eyes, frowned and then opened them again, examining the medigun firmly in his grasp.

"Mein Gott...what I must do..."

"Doc, are you really gonna...?"

"...Herr Conagher, I am prepared to do **whatever it takes**."

Praying to the heavens, Nils armed the Life Sparker, glancing down at the excess charge he had built up, pushing the experimental new medigun well beyond 100% Übercharge stored. Knowing full well that this decision may doom them all, that it could easily malfunction, that the charge may not be enough to save them when spread out over every last fallen comrade, that there would be nothing left afterwards...

The Medic closed his eyes and activated the Life Sparker Übercharge at 999%...

###

And so it was at that in that instant that the clouds parted. The rain ceased to fall, the thunder faded away; the heavens split and cast down rays of light on two parts of the Earth, bathing the mortals in the power of the Sun once more.

And so it was at that instant that _Death_ came, summoned by the calls of a man with no equal against a Beast of fury and destruction. The Demon captured the fury of both divine judgement and hellfire alike, moulding them to his own purposes and absorbing their combined might into the burning steel power of his soul.

And so it was at that instant that _Life_ came, urged into existence by a man who'd made the hard choice of who to save and who to leave so many times before, and could no longer bear the pain. The Medic threw caution and reason to the wind, not caring for himself as he became the conduit of the power of his team's desperate struggle.

Twin forces of _Destruction_ and _Revival_, unified in their hope for a better world, of freedom, of saving those people that justified their existence, those people who were all they had, those people who they'd gladly die to save. Infinite passion and fury given shape and form, forged in the flames of fate and war, embedded in the souls of mortals who would dare to challenge the gods, who would dare to change the world, who would dare to tame the forces of **Life** and **Death** as their own.


	21. Earthbound Hell

**Author notes: **Apologies for the delay with this chapter, lots of stuff going on. Gonna be busy with exams and whatnot as of next week, so don't expect any updates for a while. This was a difficult chapter (yeah, I say that about most of them) for many reasons, both due to the content and my personal life. It ended up coming out very differently to what I had originally planned for it...but I stuck to it and I think this should work better for the rest of the story than what I had at first.  
>I do believe this will be the longest chapter yet...or at least very close to it. Lots of stuff going on here, took ages to write, but I pretty much did it in one sitting anyway (ignoring a quick break I took). Hopefully after about 2 weeks in development, it will have been worth the wait.<p>

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><p><em><strong>Chapter 21: Earthbound Hell<strong>_

Bathed in seemingly divine light, the demon burned in Saxton's hand. Compressed hellfire so visible in the demon's eyes, his body no longer able to contain the most terrible force in the world: love. It was love for his former team, the members of RED, that had twisted the man once known as Isaac Howard into the Crimson Demon. It was love for his new team that made him stay behind to buy them time. But most of all, it was love for the world and all that existed within it that pushed him now, that drove him to face the impossible for even the slightest chance of saving it from the monsters he now found as his enemies.

Faced with this power coursing through the Engineer's veins, Hale yelped a most unmanly cry of surprise, leaping back and flinching, his hand releasing his former captive and spasming. Eyes wide in shock, the Australian slowly looked down at his large, hairy hand. The thick skin that was barely burned even from intensive and continued flamethrower usage against him was scorched and in pain, a horrible stinging causing him to grind his teeth. He took the time to concentrate and found that, as with every other thing that would have slowed or killed a normal man, he could ignore the pain and regain use of his hand. After a few seconds, a smile graced his features as he balled both hands into fists.

"HA! Now, where was that-"

WHAM! A gauntleted fist slammed into the Australian, sending the bulky man flying into the air. The few moments he had spent fighting past the pain had made him lose track of his prey, who currently stood still, head down and silent as the heavens cast him in an unearthly glow. Hale tried not to wince as he rubbed his jaw, the wind whistling past his ears not seeming to bother him in the slightest.

Backflipping casually, a frown formed on his features as he descended back down to earth as fast as gravity would allow. He wasn't much of a thinker and his eyesight was hardly his prime strength, but if he didn't know better, that glow almost seemed to be coming from the Engineer himself rather than being a trick of the light. And why was the man frozen still like a statue and not picking up his fallen shotgun?

No sooner than thinking this, Hale's eyes grew wide once again, mouth slowly opening as the Crimson Demon was there before him, falling at the same pace, madness etched into his features, the red glow emanating from his body becoming more apparent. Suddenly the sound of the rushing air vanished and the Australian found himself cold and the world became dark...sheer darkness for all except the figure cloaked in burning flames. For perhaps the first time in his entire life, Hale felt true fear course through his body, locking him up and clouding his mind.

Then he felt _it_. Outwards there was no change in appearance but that...demon had done something. A wave of hatred hit the Mann Co. CEO like a full storm compressed into a single explosion of emotion, drowning him in its intensity. Fear had frozen him and hate had its flames licking his very soul. Electricity running through him, the man was reduced to beast even further, operating on mere instinct as the question of fight or flight came to him. Even with terror gripping him, even with his mind gone and even when faced with the sight of _Death_ himself, grinning beneath that helmet, Hale was not one to run.

With every ounce of his soul he gathered himself together. With every ounce of his strength he compressed the very essence of his being. With every ounce of desperation clearly visible on his face, the Australian balled his hand, drew back his fist and with a final primal **roar**, launched his might at the Texan.

Saxton opened his eyes, not realising that he had shut them and found himself staring at the burning light of Isaac's soul. Looking past those eyes he gulped. His fist had been caught easily in the mechanical arm of the Engineer and there appeared to be no effort exerted on the Demon's part as he struggled to escape his steel grasp. Looking back into the eyes that illuminated his very soul, he finally heard the Crimson Demon speak.

"_Not enough._"

And in that instant, Hale knew it to be true. He didn't have the inner strength, the same drive, the same will. He had drawn himself together and launched it at his foe, but it had not been enough. His essence had scattered before the open hand that had so easily halted his fist. The Australian had a roaring primal spirit like few others, but he had never been truly challenged, had never encountered something to bring him to his knees. He had not had his love been turned to hate. He had not lost everything and reinvented himself in steel and hellfire.

The man known as Saxton Hale was a savage beast, a terror amongst mortal men. But his opponent was more, his opponent was beyond mortal comprehension, his opponent would face the Gods themselves if he had to. Isaac Howard was the Crimson Demon, a man driven to the edge of despair, all odds and Fate herself against him. He was the Crimson Demon, a warrior who had been reborn anew and stepped forwards to face the world without hesitation. He was the Crimson Demon and the mere Beast he fought had brought pain to his team, to his friends, to his family.

The sound of wind returned to Hale's ears and the world around them rematerialised for one moment as he idly noticed his hand was free. Isaac had raised both arms before him into the air clasped together and with an almighty roar, the sight of his fists about to embed themselves into Saxton's skull was the last thing the Australian saw before his body was used to create a sizeable crater in the barren earth.

###

Elsewhere, away from Death, Nils and Dell bore witness to the invocation of **Life**.

Illuminated by the joyful light of the heavens, the wounded found themselves in the embrace of the Life Sparker, the aforementioned Medigun's beam having spread out into seven spiralling threads of energy. Each thread embedded itself into one of the fallen mercenaries, a strange light pulsing through the threads as a new glow bathed the members of Team Fortress, drawing them all, Nils and Dell include, into its warm embrace.

The aura of healing light grew, spreading over the vehicle and beyond into a blue-white orb, sparking and crackling gently as tendrils of blue energy danced throughout. An odd sense of calm befell the Medic and the Engineer as they watched breathlessly as the world beyond the orb they were in seemed to vanish into a white void, the only sound a steady and comforting hum. The threads continued to pulse and twist slightly as sparks danced over the motionless bodies of the other teammates.

Beyond words or conscious thought, fascinated and speechless, Nils dropped the experimental Medigun, the energy-carrying...no, life-carrying rays still flowing from the barrel as he walked into the centre, where the airborne sparks were most prominent. Dell simply stood there, slack-jawed, eyes unseen behind his goggles. The Medic found himself examining each body as wounds were healed at an incredible pace, as blood vanished, as the very clothes and armour and weapons became clean and shiny. He saw chests rise, he heard their breaths and somehow...even without touching them, he could feel their heartbeats. He could feel the life in his patient's bodies, could feel their recovery, the life in their chests stirring in all but one of them.

Slowly, still not aware of what he was doing, Nils approached the battered and inert form of the Scout. His body was lying there, the young boy looking serene and peaceful as the soft light licked at his face. Kevin's wounds had been healed, but his presence was not sensed. The Medic crouched at the boy's side, one gloved hand cautiously reaching out, searching for a pulse. How long Nils simply crouched there, searching for a life that was not present, he didn't know. Only the feel of Dell's Gunslinger in his shoulder brought the Medic back into the present.

He took one look at the Texan, who had removed his helmet and was looking sadly at the inert form of the runner. The German doctor looked away, turning his head back to their fallen comrade, bowing his head. He clumsily mumbled a few muffled strings of German in the boy's memory, choking back a sob as tears ran freely down his normally stoic or sadistic face. He had seen so many die, had treated so many of his patients with ill-disguised disdain and malice, putting countless wounded in considerable pain both before and during his enlistment in BLU.

The Medic had heartlessly let so many die and had even treated his teammates with the same utter disregard...at first. But slowly he had come to love the buffoons he worked with, a slight pain in his chest starting to form every time he had to abandon one to save his own skin and conserve his precious Übercharge, no matter how necessary it had been. But to think that even for all of this growth, that he'd be reduced to such a state over the death of a mere boy...in other times it would have been laughable.

Instead he simply cried, not noticing or caring when Dell joined in, wet streaks running down under his goggles, the man on his knees and spouting gibberish. Neither man was aware as time passed, surrounded by this orb and surrounded by bodies...

###

The Demon and the Beast continued to trade blows, their clashes echoing throughout the empty landscape, craters marking the results of airborne duels, rubble from thrown boulders littering the earth. A thunderous boom exploded out, causing both land and air alike to shake, the barrel of Vengeance emitting dark smoke as electricity sparked around the ominous shotgun. The Beast panted heavily, having only just dodged the maelstrom of charged buckshot that had dug long trenches and exploded railway track just behind and to one side of him.

Hale had been able to recover and strike out against the Engineer, satisfied to find that whilst any wounds inflicted vanished immediately, over time and with each successful strike, the damn Demon's aura grew a little smaller, a little weaker, a little less intense. Merely being in the presence of that raging fireball threatened to throw the Australian back into a panic or worse yet, paralysed by fear.

Still, even with his few minor victories, he knew his outcome did not look good. Already somewhat injured from the early attacks by the entirety of Team Fortress and unable to tap into his usual reserves of strength and rage, the Australian did what he could. The Crimson Demon had been hard enough to fight even without weapons and if the Engineer's weaponry had also been affected by his apparent transformation (as it appeared they had, if the shotgun was anything to go by)...well, he didn't like his odds.

As if to punctuate this fact, the Demon's left arm shifted, in an instant replaced with a gleaming chaingun. Wasting no time, he unleashed a hail of blazing bullets at the Beast, who snarled and leapt into the air, narrowly avoiding the incendiary rounds as they ploughed into ground and rubble alike with a scattering of brief flames. Not missing a moment, Isaac angled the chaingun up, easily tracking the Australian as he travelled in a predictable parabolic arc, his mind near-instantly predicting the trajectory and tagging the airborne CEO with his fire.

Landing with a pained grunt as fire licked at his scarred and bleeding flesh, his hat and shorts somehow intact, if tattered, the bulky man kicked up a cloud of dirt and dust before dashing to one direction into a roll. Vision temporarily obscured, the Crimson Demon unleashed another seconds worth of fire into the cloud before deactivating the chaingun and reforming his hand. Isaac spent a moment to look at his hands and then to glance into the distance where a blue-white orb could be seen, spotlighted by the Sun's rays. Teeth clenched, he formed two fists and vanished into a blur of motion, thrusters active and further shrapnel and dust kicked into the air as he sped off.

Hale put all the effort he could into the massive muscles that pumped his legs, allowing him to rush at breakneck pace to the orb of unusual light that he just knew contained the Demon's teammates. He hated to fight dirty like this, to use trickery and hostages rather than fight like a man, but he had to stall for time. It had stopped being a man-to-man fight as soon as the power of Death had been unleashed upon him and he had to find any edge he could against the Engineer.

A distraction, a way of passing the time...he knew that power couldn't be used indefinitely, and with the way the aura had looked last time he'd had a proper look at his foe, it couldn't be much longer. The intense desire to stay alive justified his actions in Saxton's mind and he was almost there, almost at where the rest of that bloody team had congregated together. He had seen that vehicle darting about in the distance, collecting their bodies. With any luck he could halt that mad Engineer here and put an end to them all for certain. And then he'd-

The Australian's limbs all jerked and snapped forward as his torso came to an abrupt stop as the rest of his momentum made itself known on his head, the sudden force of the stop almost knocking the man unconscious. Blinking weakly, he just barely felt some strange flame sear it's way through his flesh, into his chest, into his being. Slowly but surely he looked down and was met with the sight of the Crimson Demon standing there still as a statue, head down.

Hale croaked out and gasped as his blood trickled into a pool on the sodden earth below. Coughing, gobs of blood splattered onto the ground and the armour of the Engineer, who just stood there, both hands on the hilt of his infernal blade. Crimson liquid ever so slowly ran down the blade, the metal shining with a seemingly divine light as the last of the clouds parted and the hellish battlefield was brought into full view for anyone unfortunate enough to see the destruction.

A rushing came to his head and pain wracked his body, a dull thumping in his chest suddenly becoming very loud as it gratingly slowed and agonisingly squeezed. Saxton Hale had felt the sting of steel splice through is skin and muscle, of his blood splatting onto the ground, ever since a young age. He had felt his bones snap under blows that shook the very earth. He had felt his pain tolerance tested extensively through use of high voltage coursing through his body.

Hale had fought off the most dangerous animals the world had to offer with nothing more than his bare hands. He had laughed in the face of adventure, slaughtered countless innocents whilst laughing merrily, had made his living on selling weapons of war. He was less a human and more an indestructible beast, by adulthood able to shrug off bullets with little issue and leap through the air like some strange shirtless superhero. He had faced police and armies and fought his way into becoming the recently-crowned King of Australia, just because he could.

"But now..." Isaac thought to himself as he gritted his teeth, clinging onto the last of the Über-Overdrive while he still could, letting the rage at this man flow freely. Using all of his mental strength he held it in check, preventing the last dregs of raw power simply explode out of him or take over completely. He shut his eyes one last time, breathing deeply as he thought of his team, possibly beyond recovery even with the Medic working as best he could and even with the power of the Life Sparker. He thought of all that had suffered, directly or otherwise, from the actions of this uncontrollable Beast he had held impaled on his sword. He thought of the state of the world and all he had yet to do.

A final surge of energy was unleashed, the Crimson Demon's soul screaming with all its might for one last gift of strength from Death, for the body to go even further beyond its limits and allow this one act of retribution...and revenge. Overcome in a blazing sea of passion, of rage, of hate and of love, the Engineer screeched to the heavens, eyes snapping open as a roar started to rumble its way through his throat, rumbling through his entire being.

"...THERE SHALL BE NO MORE!"

Feet dug into the cratered and drowned Earth, the pool of blood still growing outwards as legs tensed, muscles bound and ready to release. An almighty tremor ran through the ground for an instant as blood and earth alike were scattered, the spot the Beast had been impaled upon by the demon vanishing into a deep crater and a cloud of dust and smoke and fire.

Screaming through the air like some agent from the gates of Hell, Demon and Beast flew madly into the skies above, roaring and rushing and whistling. Anger...blood...the sweeping winds...all were there, fused in the furnace of revenge, forged into one final act as they finally slowed, blissful silence hovering over them once more as they passed the clouds and seemed to halt there, suspended in mid-air. Isaac saw the Sun, he saw the dark clouds that were now so distant and seemed to be giving way to clear skies. He saw the vast expanse of blue, saw the scarred land beneath him, the far sight of civilisation on the horizon.

Hale, barely concious from the sudden acceleration and battering, saw the aura fade, only the burning eyes behind those pitch-black goggles still blazing with that terrible force. He idly wondered whether his life would flash before his eyes now as the sayings always said happened before he finally succumbed to the darkness.

The Crimson Demon casually flicked the fallen Beast off his sword as gravity seemed to catch a hold of them once more. Ignoring the countless red-line warnings on his goggles, he activated one last boost from his thrusters, readying his sword. Gaining on the falling body of Hale, Isaac felt sharp pains wreak havoc throughout his body, the acceleration and exhaustion threatening to knock him out. Nonetheless he withstood the g-forces and unleashed his ultimate declaration:

"From the heights of Heaven I shall send you to Hell! **DESCENT OF THE ARCHANGEL!**"

And so the Angel of Death struck the Beast again and again as they sped Earth-wards, falling faster and faster as blood and air and steel and flesh heated with friction. Perhaps the man known as Saxton Hale dreamt. Perhaps he saw what his life had amounted to. Perhaps he was allowed some final rest and respite from the hellfire that had been unleashed upon him.

Any room for speculation was driven away when the pair finally impacted as one, blade firmly embedded into Hale's chest once more immediately prior to landing. The world shook once more, the body driven deep into the ground as cracks and fissures cracked out and split apart, rubble and rail alike falling into the depths. The sky was blotted out with dust and dirt and smoke and shrapnel, covering the landscape of this Hell on Earth in darkness once more.

If one was to watch carefully through all the destruction and chaos, and if they were gifted in both sight and level ground in just the right position, one might notice a single dark shape flung away from the force of the impact, that one odd shape splitting into two before impacting the ground again.

###

Dell was saying something or other, possibly giving some tribute to the fallen runner, when Nils felt something stir. It was like with the others, he suddenly felt the presence of life and he held his breath. A moment later, he felt it: the first weak beat of a restarted heart. The beats slowly became faster and stronger, until it joined the harmony of heartbeats the Medic sensed around him. Ignoring the Engineer's words and presence, he felt for a pulse, desperately hoping he wasn't mistaken.

_Ba-dum, ba-dum_...

Nils suddenly exhaled a breath he wasn't aware he had been holding and fell to the floor. Dell rushed to his side.

"Doc! Y'alright? I know the loss is hard on ya, it is for me too, but we gotta keep our heads, it's what he would have wanted."

The German repressed the urge to start laughing and instead started crying, only this time with tears of joy as he smiled.

"Herr Conagher...ze boy...he is alive!"

The Texan looked as if he was about to try and console the clearly hysterical doctor when a spark jumped across Kevin's chest and the former-BLU Scout drew breath, eliciting attention from both men. No sooner than this apparent miracle had been observed did the first of their comrades rise to their feet. Unsurprisingly, it was the Soldier who rose to his feet, taking in the sight that surrounded him with wonder.

Jane glanced down at the thread of life that connected him to the Medigun, noting as it started to fade and shrink in size. One by one as other men stirred and rose to their feet, the threads faded and shrunk until only small tendrils still ran through them. Finally as the last of their number rose, the young boy weakly opening his eyes, the orb surrounding them became further and further transparent, the sparks ceasing to run across it as it turned completely white, shrunk and faded from existence.

At that instance, something stirred in the hearts of the mercenaries, similar to when they had felt their first Übercharge, which in itself had required surgery and heart transplants to achieve in the first place. Except unlike that time, they felt not a rush of energy and a sense of invulnerability. Instead, all of them, Dell and Nils included, felt a pleasant warmth and a strange sense of connection for an instant. Any past disagreements, any past confusion, any questions on the tip of their tongues were gone. For in that moment those nine became one and saw the souls of the men they'd march into Hell for.

They didn't know how long they stood there, basking in the sense of life, many suddenly realising just how close to death they had been. But alas, they felt a strange tugging, a warmth that was not any of those who had been within the range of effect of the Life-Sparker. Instead it was more like a distant inferno. If anyone had to describe it, they would have said it was comparable to the last ember in a fireplace trying to burst forth into one last blaze of heat and light before flickering away.

The heat was getting closer and as one, the nine mercenaries looked into the sky, barely making out a descending blur. All were silent apart from the Pyro, who's exact wording was lost underneath the mask, but regardless the spell was broken. A sudden hissing and cloud of smoke erupting from the fallen Medigun drew attention and it didn't take long for the team to scatter and run out of the way.

The Heavy and Demoman blinked twice, looking at their fleeing colleagues before putting "falling shape about to land nearby" and "overcharged device capable of saving their lives possibly about to blow up" together. The pair yelled, leapt off the vehicle and ran, the Scout and Medic already furthest away. The Engineer alone was probably the only one who pondered on why they hadn't just started the modified trailer up again and thrown the Medigun overboard. In the short span of time he had before the impact ended up shaking the world and throwing the team flying despite their distance from the landing site, Dell eventually decided that panic still got the worst of even the best of them.

And then the world vanished.

###

Nine of the world's finest mercenaries, tossed aside but mostly unharmed, together enjoy the gift of life and consider their own **mortality** once more in a world that wants them dead...

A **Demon**, now a mere man once more, lies in great pain on the edge of a deep hole, surrounded by fissures and cracks on all sides. His armour is dented, battered and has had large chunks scattered to the winds. His left arm lies by his side, just barely connected, wiring and gears strewn nearby. His right fares little better, twisted out of shape and soaking in a pile of blood. His legs are sprawled out, a bone sticking out of one quite visibly, as the LFD on his back sparks and sputters. A bloodied sword lies embedded blade-first in its own small crater nearby.

A **Beast**, surrounded by darkness and regret, can merely look on in shame and sorrow at the sight before him. It is _her_. She doesn't hold back her disgust, merely turns around and walks away, her voice echoing to the fallen man who was once on top of the world.

"I don't tolerate _failures_, Mr Hale. You have **failed **_me_ for that last time."

As the Australian suffers in that darkness, long after she is out of sight, her words repeat in his mind forever. With that cruel voice crushing his spirit, he does what amounts to the ultimate admission of his failure, his surrender to circumstances, to endure this hellish limbo, this Earthbound Hell...

In the cover of shadows and death, Saxton Hale _weeps_.


	22. We Leave No Man Behind!

**Author's notes:** Apologies for the delay, still in exams and whatnot. Hadn't really planned much about this chapter, was a little surprised by how it turned out, but I think it came it pretty okay in the end. Was pretty hard to bring myself to write, it's been boiling as of late and I've been frequently exhausted.  
>On a separate unrelated note, passed my driving theory test and I've got a lil' humble side fic going on too now, for those times where I gotta write but don't feel up to writing something <em>epic<em> ;)

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter 22: We Leave No Man Behind<strong>_

Dell wearily opened his eyes, blinking a few times before getting to his feet, glancing around as he found his balance. The rest of the former members of BLU were nearby, a few already on their feet whilst others were slowly starting to come around. The Engineer slowly made his way over to the Medic, Pyro, Sniper and Demoman, all of whom seemed quite shaken.

And rightly so, that...whatever it was, had snapped them out of whatever link the Life Sparker had established, then shook the earth itself and knocked them all flying. It didn't take 11 PhDs to wager that it was probably the other Engineer who was in part responsible. Hopefully their unexpected ally had survived whatever madness he had performed...

Dell held that thought as he caught up to the others, noticing that Nils appeared to be muttering something under his breath, lost in thought. He glanced over at Ashley, who merely shrugged, not bothering to vocalise a response to the silent question. The Medic's perplexed state was understandable, no doubt the Medigun had not fully been tested and the results were hardly something anyone had been anticipating. Speaking of the life-saver, where had it gone in the chaos and confusion?

It was Jack who nudged the thoughtful German, pointing to a still lazily floating cloud of dust. If one squinted you could just barely make out some still shapes cast in shadow. The others slowly came to and gathered together, Nils finally snapping out of it to check them over. Some minor injuries had been inflicted, mostly headaches, stiffness or bleeding from shrapnel, none of which would be any issue if the good doctor had access to a Medigun. Unfortunately, they were left to slowly explore the destroyed landscape, careful of their step.

Large craters had formed throughout the earth, cracks spread out far and wide, with more significant fissures here and there, showing only the abyss. The dust seemed oddly persistent and nobody was willing to venture too far into the cloud for fear of falling down the crevices and never being seen again. Nobody at least, except for the ever enigmatic Pyro, who strode forward almost carelessly, suddenly activating the enhanced compression blast, using the powerful puffs of air to clear the lingering particles away.

Ashley coughed a few times, the sound seeming oddly choked beneath the gas mask, before returning to the rest of the group, who looked out into the distance where a familiar figure lay: Isaac.

The former RED, although not all too clear from this distance, nonetheless seemed to be in a pretty poor state. He didn't appear to be moving, was surrounded by debris and appeared to be lying in a pool of his own blood. The almighty utility that was the Level Four Dispenser was spitting out dangerous sparks and his sword stood upright at an angle, peeking out of its own crater.

The rest of Team Fortress would have no doubt rushed to his aid were it not for a few minor points. Firstly, a great chasm stood between them with only the occasional pillar of earth to bridge the gap. Secondly, the patch of intact earth holding their team-mate was itself looking fairly unstable, a small gap separating it from a truly massive crater, the bottom of which could not be seen. Thirdly, a blinking and slight glow attracted the attention to another larger patch of land which held the once again upturned and damaged trailer...but more importantly, the Life Sparker was dangerously close to the edge of the abyss.

The team one by one turned to face Kevin, the Scout clearly being the best amongst their number for the task, although his ability to bring Isaac back (especially considering the armour and other equipment) was certainly questioned due to his own small frame. Any doubt regarding his suitability for the task was solidified when the boy, attempting to do a little jog on the spot to prepare himself, ended up falling to one knee, breathing harshly. A glance over revealed a shard of metal embedded into the runner's leg and based on recent events...even without the shrapnel, Nils was uncertain if the Scout was up to it, although alive he was hardly in peak condition right now.

A small rumble brought their collective gaze back to the chasm before them, noting as rocks began to break away from the island the former-RED was lying upon and the Life Sparker started to fall towards the edge. Eyes flickered between the ally that had held off Hale to buy them time and the irreplaceable prototype device to which they owed their lives before they glancing over one another.

###

Elsewhere, the Administrator tapped her fingers on the table impatiently as Miss Pauling finished her report. Resisting the urge to roll her eyes at the content of the report (did the employees always have to be so incompetent all the time?), the woman in purple instead took a relaxing drag on a cigarette, ignoring her underling who lingered.

Time passed with only the static of monitors behind them and the ticking of an unseen clock to provide relief from the painful silence. Eventually Miss Pauling, avoiding the Announcer's gaze as best she could, found her voice.

"...um, we also have yet to receive any word from Mr. Hale regarding the termination of the mercenaries formerly in the employ of RED and BLU."

The most powerful woman in the world snorted, tapping the ash off the cancer stick into a nearby ashtray before turning her chair away from her assistant and looking into the static as if it held answers. The underling was left to sweat and considered leaving when her employer's voice finally made it's cold presence known.

"I would not concern yourself with the actions of that brutish oaf. Hale may be amongst the richest and most powerful men in the world, as well as recently-crowned King of Australia, but he remains a complete and utter imbecile. In the past when we have required him to perform tasks for us, he has been easily sidetracked by other idiotic matters, such as bar brawls, hunting endangered animals and purchasing random businesses."

Helen rotated her chair back to face Miss Pauling as the screens behind her flickered and displayed various assorted images of Saxton Hale: one showed him swimming in what appeared to be the sea alongside an aircraft carrier, another depicted him lifting an elephant above his head as a lion flees, and yet another displayed the Australian climbing some frozen mountain in nothing but his hat, shorts and boots.

"I have received from other, more _competent_ employees of mine that Hale once again was displaying his unnatural talent for idiocy. Rather than taking one of his private jets to reach the United States, he instead saw fit to run across Australia, getting into random fights and causing extensive property damage before then reaching the ocean and deciding to swim the entire distance. _In the wrong direction_, might I add! He was then further delayed by several battles with sharks, a giant squid, punching through a submarine of unknown origin and boarding a battleship before reaching the right continent."

She took a slight pause, picking up her cigarette and pulling deeply from it again, exhaling before shooting an annoyed glance into the shadows, as if she held them to blame for the stupidity of the man she nonetheless had to rely on.

"He was last spotted heading in roughly the right direction as the rogue mercenaries' last known location, but any information beyond that is unknown to me. See that this..._error_...in our surveillance and espionage is _rectified_ **immediately**."

And with that the Administrator swivelled back to watch the monitors in disgust, Miss Pauling wisely taking this as her cue to leave lest she suffer the Administrator's wrath. As for the woman in purple herself, she merely stared unblinkingly at the array of manly images, quietly asking herself what she ever saw in the man, the embodiment of everything Australian.

###

Dell realised that there was little time and that from the way things were looking (and knowing their luck), it'd be a choice of who and what to save. Kevin was in no shape to bound over there and at some point in the confrontation with Hale the jetpack had been lost. Grigori, Ewan and Jane were likely all strong enough to carry Isaac and all of his equipment that could be recovered from nearby, but the Heavy, Demoman and Soldier were hardly known for the speed...and in the case of Jane, rocket jumping across the chasm was probably not a good idea.

The Texan took a deep breath as he came to a realisation. As the ground shook a little more, the tremors minor but potentially fatal all the same to their other team-mate, he stepped forwards, accepting what he'd have to do. Right now, the cause of these after-shock tremors didn't matter, nor did the exact medical status of the men around him. Nothing was immediately life-threatening to them after all, but for their comrade who had beaten them, brought them together and risked everything to buy them some time...there could be no doubt as to his focus.

The rest of the team suddenly silenced any mutterings or discussion regarding what to do as the short American took a step back before charging forwards, throwing his body off the edge. Ignoring anything else, he tried to make his shape as aerodynamic as possible as he flew through the air, briefly activating his thrusters to give him the extra push to reach the first pillar.

He didn't waste time, for as soon as he landed he kicked off again, narrowly avoiding a fatal accident as his boot slipped on the loose earth and the ground collapsed away beneath him. Going through the air once again, albeit at a less than optimal angle, Dell activated his own overdrive, the thrusters roaring into life as he soared at the next stepping stone, briefly considering whether to land on it. Another tremor rumbled below and instead he found himself flying low, narrowly avoiding chunks of rock falling upon him as he kicked off the pillar back into the air, speeding towards his fellow Engineer.

He wasn't aware as the rest of his team watched in awestruck silence as he deactivated his overdriven thrusters for a moment to recover, sliding onto the next platform, the top layer of earth slipping away from the rest with him still on it. Acting as if he'd barely noticed the issue, he instead waited on the patch of crumbling rock and dirt until the last moment.

It was at this point that with a spinning motion and a good blast from his boot-thrusters that he exploded the remaining earth beneath him, spiralling through the air in a parabolic arc before disengaging the overdrive and rolling to a halt besides Isaac, kicking up a cloud of dust as he did so. Cracks formed below his armoured feet and he glanced around him, quickly calculating his next move as the land started to crumble away at the edges.

Not sparing a glance for the impossibly large crater in the oddly stable ground nearby, he instead pulled his comrade's battered form, still dripping with blood, bits and pieces of metal falling from his frame, onto one shoulder. A quick check was made sure that the LFD was still securely attached. He picked up the abandoned shotgun and pulled the bloodied blade from the ground, gathering up the weapons in his other arm as he tried to balance and remain stable.

With a quick look around in him in all directions he hoped that his predictions were right and ran as best he could on the unstable rubble towards the large patch of ground that held the damaged trailer and the Medigun...teetering closer and closer to the edge of the seemingly bottomless void, rocks falling down the impossibly steep slopes and fading away into nothing.

The remainder of Team Fortress could only watch, slack-jawed, as they traced Dell's progress, the whole affair seeming as if in slow motion. The Engineer's armour glowed with an odd light reminiscent of the orb produced by the Life Sparker and seemed to vibrate as somehow, despite the near-depleted overdrive and the extra mass and air resistance, the duo still fought their way across the gap. The conscious Texan didn't dare to look down, his eyes firmly set on their goal.

It was all the team could do not to fall over as one final wave rippled through the land, tearing the previous pillar of land clean into two chunks that cracked off and fell to their doom. Stumbling backwards from the edge at their feet as more cracks zig-zagged through the once again dry earth. It was of course the Medic who was first to release the truth as he stared at the form of the former BLU, adjusting the position and angle of his legs as the pair struggled across, the thrusters spitting and sparking as they did so.

Dell had barely been injured and yet had still received the Life Sparker charge. That energy had to go somewhere, it was a simple law of Physics that energy cannot be lost or destroyed, it merely changes forms. It would appear that Dell's own combat armour had retained some of the charge and, so long as he hadn't completely drained or overworked the system on his initial series of flights to Isaac, a brief pause (such as collecting their comrade) combined with the residual energy could allow for a second (and more internally destructive, from the look of things) final thruster overdrive. He just hoped it would be enough to take them all the way to the...

The Medic could not help the gasp that escaped his mouth as he stared at his prototype Medigun, just barely balancing on the edge, rubble around it breaking away and the life-saver itself wobbling so precariously...

With an almighty thud and sputtering and smoke from the thrusters, the two Texan's crashed into the island that carried the modified trailer and the Life Sparker. Dell tried to take the brunt of the impact and prevent his fellow Engineer from sustaining further damage, but it was unfortunately still a painful fall, the thrusters having died whilst still in mid-air. Blinking, his eyesight landed on the Medigun...

The Medigun that slowly, ever so slowly, started to tilt over the abyss. The Medigun that, even as he reached one hand out in vain, slipped away even after the tremors had stopped. The Medigun that glinted in the sunlight as it span and fell, vanishing into the eternal darkness, never to be used again, leaving a trail of sparks and smoke behind it.

A small muffled explosion and a brief glimpse of blue-white rays piercing out from the darkness was the only sign the miracle device had ever existed at all.

###

"Merde..."

Gabriel was the only to speak as one of their two hopes had vanished and perished. Coughing and turning to his colleagues, he absent-mindedly searched his suit for cigarettes before giving up and sighing.

"I can only hope, Monsieurs, that we do not ever regret the Labourer choosing the Demon over the Miracle. The power to revive those from the edge of ze Grim Reaper himself..." The Spy fell quiet, feeling the rest of the team's burning glares before coughing again and shrugging. "...not, of course, zhat I was trying to imply that leaving our ally behind would be the preferable action, just that we may someday wish in the future that things had gone differently."

Jane was the first to recover and walk up to the Frenchman, clasping one hand on his shoulder and looking him straight in the eye.

"Regardless of tactical importance, the life of one of our men outweighs any bases, equipment or weapons at our disposal. We leave nobody behind Frenchie, _nobody_."

The Soldier paused for a moment before turning to face the rest of the team, his booming voice echoing across the fractured landscape and piercing through their hazy minds:

"DO YOU _MAGGOTS_ HEAR ME? **WE LEAVE NO MAN BEHIND!** _NEVER_ SHALL WE STAND _ALONE_ IN THIS WORLD THAT TRIES TO **CRUSH** US! WE ARE MORE THAN A TEAM, WE ARE MORE THAN MEN, FOR WE ARE THE ONES THAT DARES TO CHALLENGE THE WORLD TO THE ART OF COMBAT AND **BEST DAMN WIN!** I DON'T CARE FOR EXCUSES, I DON'T CARE FOR SILLY HIPPIE TALK LIKE _SANITY_ OR _COMMON_ _SENSE_, I CARE FOR **VICTORY!** AND I NEED EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU SONS OF BITCHES TO WIN THIS!"

Jane grinned as the team flinched back for a moment before slowing nodding, some degree of fire returning to their blood as they looked back at the twin Engineers in distress. Dell had managed to get to his feet and put Isaac back into a stable position on his shoulder and was looking doubtfully at the gap back to the rest of the team. Admittedly it was shorter than the distance between the team and Isaac had been originally, but all the same, there was no "stepping stones" to make use of and his thrusters were dead.

It was Ewan who stepped up besides Jane, a crazy grin on his face as he pulled out the Fusion Pipebomb Launcher. Immediately the Soldier mirrored the Demoman's own smile, the American figuring out the Scot's insane plan immediately.

"Oi laddie! You get as close as you can an' be ready to jump, aye? Rest o' ya, be ready to reach oot an' catch 'im if need be!"

Doubt crossed the Engineer's features but nonetheless he complied, slowly and cautiously approaching the edge before he was halted in mid-stride by the voice of the Medic.

"Halt bitte! Herr Conagher, zhere should be a spare stock Medigun in ze supplies we brought along with ze vehicle, please get it for me!"

The short and quickly tiring man did so, awkwardly carrying Isaac, the demon's weapons and the stock Medigun, trying his best not to drop anything as he got as close to the edge as he dared. It took all of his effort not to drop everything as he fumbled, startled by the sight of a pipebomb rolling to a halt just behind him. Before he had time to react, the Demoman was calling out something to him he didn't hear and on pure instinct, he tensed his legs and leapt forwards, the explosion behind him scorching his armoured back and punching him through the air.

But...it was not enough. He felt gravity tug him and saw that his current arc would fall short of the others and try as he might to stretch forward, he would descend into his doom. Dell shut his eyes, the burning in his blood finally fading away. He had tried his best...he had failed. But he had no regrets. That was his last thought...

###

Ashley, eyes wide beneath the lenses of the gas mask they constantly wore, found themselves running to the edge, dropping the flamethrower and crying out for the pair:

"Engie, nuuuuu!"

...that was Dell's last thought before the Pyro's cry opened his eyes and he found his worn hands being clasped in the gloves of the firebug who simply stared at him, eyes somehow full of emotion even with the mask and suit in the way of seeing the person behind it all.

The Sniper, having seen and reacted to the pyromaniac's mad dash first, found himself also airborne, his tall frame reaching out to grasp onto Ashley's legs. He then felt a strong pair of hands grip onto his own legs, looking back to see a single eye smiling at him as the Demoman fell with them, forming a chain.

The Medic was behind the Demoman in less than a second, against all odds the Spy pulling up behind, with each person making the tip of the chain closer to the edge. The Scout leant over and grasped onto the Spy, sliding over towards the chasm himself, only just stopped as the Soldier leapt onto him and caught his chest in a powerful hug, pulling back with all his might. Finally, the Heavy held onto Soldier and after some slight further sliding, there was finally an abrupt halt to the descent.

Muscles straining, the bodies rocking slightly in the wind, faces red both due to orientation and strain, slowly the chain was pulled up. Bit by bit it rose as aching limbs screamed for release, as sweat cascaded down their bodies, as legs slowly slipped from the sweaty palms. Bit by bit the team endured the burning pain and enormous pull of gravity. Bit by bit another member was brought back to relatively safe ground and with a few deep breaths, went back to work pulling the others up.

Only when the Pyro dragged the two Engineers up did the mercenaries collapse onto their backs, gasping and panting for air. There were tears, there was sweat, there was frantic hugging and jumbled babbling. They spoke of close calls, of unity, of what the loss a single member of the team would have done to them all, the damage it would have wreaked.

The Soldier's earlier message was understood.

###

Narrowly avoiding a brush with death, stranded atop the darkness, plagued with hardship after hardship, the reunited mercenaries finally realise their bond.

Their comrade, the sleeping _demon_, is given space and respect as the bringer of **life** attends to the bringer of **death**, some slight _spark_ still available as their souls together fight for the demon's continued existence.

The device of miracles is lost to eternity, their vehicle stranded away and their current location still at risk. The one who stayed behind to save them all may yet not recover and their own _mortality_ is once more made all the more obvious.

But...through it all, the message rings true, even as it brings them pain and bitter tears:

**"WE LEAVE NO MAN BEHIND!"**


	23. Awakening Nightmares

**Author's notes:** Got some time off before my next exams, so I figured this could probably do with an update. This chapter was originally going to be a lot shorter and less interesting, but I found myself expanding on a segment and then found that flowing into...well, my plans for this one changed a wee bit and should be better because of it, whilst still showing pretty much everything I originally wanted to show (and much more).  
>As always, I appreciate everyone who has read this, and especially those who like it enough to add it to their favouritesalerts or have taken the time from their busy schedules to drop me a review. Many thanks, I hope you enjoy!

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter 23: Awakening Nightmares<strong>_

Drifting through an endless sea of memories and darkness within his mind, Isaac slept. Drowning in the ocean of the past, of war, of bloodshed, of regrets. He thought of his family, of his home, wondering if they still existed, or had she erased them too? Did they even exist? Was it really so far-fetched as to fabricate these memories crushing him, in a world like this?

A world of pain. A world of suffering. A world on the brink of complete takeover, of chaos and confusion, of a new age: an age of **darkness**.

Sitting atop her throne, he could see _her_ now, commanding her army with that inhuman coldness, that icy cut to her voice, that ever-present look of disgust. Saxton Hale was a man turned beast, but the Administrator...she was a monster, plain and simple. How many lives had she ruined, how far had her control reached, just what was this war to her? How had she come to looking over the battle for land, of moderating the brotherly conflict between the Mann brothers?

Further questions whirled around the fallen Engineer's mind, but he couldn't answer any of them. Fog and flame and rain and lightning, all stirring together into a storm he could not decipher, an enigma he could not solve, a weight he could not lift. Why did his former BLU counterpart look identical to him, why hadn't they noticed sooner? Had he finally ended the reign of Hale? Where...what...?

And so the Demon slept in pain and turmoil, assaulted by his nightmares, his teammates both old and new turning their backs on him. Faces merging, monsters howling, family fading, friends dying...

He slept through the journey away from the landscape he'd carved with his own blade. He slept through the skirmishes that would follow. He slept through the assault, even as the blood of his allies joined his own.

###

Thud, thud. A pause. Thud. Thud. A stumble, a groan of pain, and the thudding continues, slower than before.

Grigori took another pace forward, his face an indestructible stone of rugged determination, his heart booming in his chest with each step. He felt a bullet dig into his shoulder, the armour-piercing round blasting through bone and flesh alike, causing him to halt for but a moment. Teeth clenched and not a sound escaping, the Russian continues forward, adjusting his arms ever so slightly.

For held to his chest and shielded from harm is the slumbering form of the Crimson Demon, still recovering from his battle with the King of Australia himself. Isaac sleeps in his grasp, his body less mangled than it had been a few hours ago and many wounds sealed and healed by the Medigun, but he was still in poor condition. As for the Medic himself...

Nils lay, still conscious, but weak, draped across the Heavy's other shoulder, desperately clutching onto both the man and his Medigun, currently being carefully aimed with one hand at the Russian's form. More bullets and shrapnel, armour-piercing or otherwise, found their way into the plodding man's body, but still he held strong.

The Medic had rushed out to save a few stragglers in their escape as they made their way into the mountains and had been on the receiving end of a powerful concussive blast, his legs broken. The rest of their team were slightly ahead of them, in various states of injury themselves, preoccupied with any enemies that had managed to flank them and providing cover fire for Grigori as he made his way over to cover...

###

Isaac trembled in fear as the Australian advanced, his left arm hanging uselessly by his side, his weapons long since lost or destroyed. Was this how it was to end? His act of vengeance, his tribute to his fallen comrades, his task of saving the world from the menace that threatened it...halted by this mere _beast_?

The Engineer frowned. Something felt..._wrong_ about this whole scenario, as if he'd already been through this, but it had gone differently. A memory, a fleeting glimpse, a shadow on the edge of his mind: hadn't he already won this battle?

Glancing around, he instead found himself back home, idly working with a piece of machinery in his hands, his eyes flickering over to where his guitar stood in the corner. Placing what he recognised as being from the living room clock to one side, he lifted the instrument to his lap and strummed a few notes before realising he had no hands. Eyes wide, the guitar fell to the ground and broke with an almighty racket, prompting his wife to come running in.

Isaac looked at his arms; stumps where his hands were and noted with alarm that even those stumps were eroding away, vanishing into dust. He looked up frantically at his wife and tried to open his mouth, to ask for help, to scream, he didn't know what...but try as he might, he was helpless, left sitting there as his arms dwindled down to dust, his mouth sealed shut as the woman in front of him stood there, her shock turning to an evil grin.

"Say, honey...what was that about you trying to stop me?"

And in an instant his home and his wife (wait...did he even have a wife to begin with?) were gone, replaced with something different. He was bound in chains and connected to some strange wires in some dark room, the sinister form of the Administrator standing expressionlessly to one side as she said something to some other shadowy figure. Her face didn't change as he writhed in agony, electricity coursing through his body, a silent scream embedded into his features as what little remained of his arms vanished with a dusty poof and burning sensation.

Eyes popping, skin smoking, it finally stopped and his head rolled to his chest. He blinked, noticing his goggles were missing, as a light shone into his face. Unable to face the light, he clenched his eyes shut, the light burning him all the same as something was asked. He was silent.

And so his body exploded into agony once more.

###

Kevin sprinted for all he was worth, dodging bullet and explosive shell alike, hopping and spinning through the air, heart racing. Nowhere was safe. It mattered not to where they retreated to, nor what abandoned base they used, they were never safe. _Her_ agents were everywhere; they were always one step ahead and with a massive trap behind.

They were everywhere at once and always ready, attacking from all angles, seemingly tracking their progress with ease even as they fell, one by one. It didn't matter what they did, the numbers were unending and incomprehensible to the boy, who admittedly wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed.

The Scout did all he could to help his teammates, to distract, to strike back, to buy them time to run to relative safety, to breathe and rest for a few moments before the chase continued. Deflecting a tossed grenade with the back of his hand back in the direction it had been thrown, he fired off a barrage of nails into the nearest foe, some random soldier, from the look of things, before twisting around and firing the modified Force-A-Nature at the hired mercenary sneaking up behind him. The stealth specialist was launched flying into the air and landed with a sickening crunch.

As for the boy? He was long gone, leaping into the air and rolling to a halt behind some shipping crates as a rocket narrowly missed. He found himself face-to-face with Jack, who causally lifted the rifle up and fired off a single shot, the bullet narrowly missing Kevin and instead embedding itself into the RPG-wielding foe in the distance.

The Sniper merely got up, offered a hand to his teammate and slung the rifle across his back, instead notching an arrow into his crossbow. A silent nod was exchanged and the pair looked up to the sight of a flare exploding, telling them all they needed to know.

Ashley, weary and struggling to breathe, the wheezing audible even with the gas mask, stumbled and fell against the railing, flare gun slipping out of their hand as their eyes fell onto the inert bodies of Jane and Isaac, both unconscious...hopefully. With a silent prayer, the Pyro too fell into the _darkness_...

###

The Demon was fully **unleashed**, tearing into his opponent and ripping away layer after layer of armour and dignity. Snarling, he brought his shotgun up to bear and fired, the shells clattering to the floor as he smashed the butt of the weapon into his foe's jaw. The enemy took the blow, moving with it and twisting as their fist came to strike the Demon in the gut.

Isaac buckled for a moment before leaping back, narrowly avoiding a powerful kick that would have took out one of his knees. He swiftly raised his chaingun arm and let loose a barrage of merciless incendiary mayhem, the opposing demon merely blocking with one armoured arm as best he could as the other rolled a grenade to the former RED's feet.

The Crimson Demon leapt into the air, curling up into a protective ball at the last moment as the explosive detonated. But, to his surprise, rather than having a storm of fire and shrapnel propel him to the other side of Thunder Mountain, instead he felt the crackle and shock of electrical tendrils grasp his body. With a pained grunt he fell, barely staying upright on one knee as his arm and weapon both sparked and failed.

His arm hung limp, his shotgun turned into melted slag and his gauntlet exploded in his face, leaving behind a mangled hand and blindness in one eye as the shrapnel dug its way in, warm blood trickling down his face. Coughing, he looked up, vision blurring in his good eye as the other Demon grinned, coming to a halt and taking a deep breath before brandishing strange claws that glowed with an otherworldly sheen.

A single good strike and Isaac felt himself coughing up blood as sharp blades pierced his chest. Embedded helplessly on those claws wielded by that _nightmarish_ demon he felt he should recognise, thunder rolled overhead and he felt moisture hit his forehead. Rain? No...

Raising his mangled organic hand to his head, he wiped the spit off, glaring at his opponent with hatred, the demon merely standing there, teeth bared in a sadistic snarl.

With all of his strength, the former RED swung his shoulder, his malfunctioning arm of steel smacking his loathsome opponent in the face, cracking the visor he wore. Not bothering to stop and see the results, he sweeps out with his right leg, breaking a kneecap and bringing his enemy down. With a powerful kick from his other leg the claws leave his chest and the other demon rolls backwards, slowing down to a dusty halt near the edge of a considerable drop.

The Crimson Demon leaps at the chance, and narrowly avoids falling off the edge himself as his opponent quickly gets up and sidesteps to the side. A furious exchange of blows, the shattering of claws, the crunch and grind of metal, the loud thud as a mechanical arm is freed from its union with the human shoulder. Fist strikes jaw, knee strikes gut, foot strikes leg...

Rocks go tumbling off the edge and thunder roars above as rain finally starts to fall, only serving to further spread the taint of blood on the earth. Burning eye stares into burning eye, the flame of the others concealed: one by remnants of a shattered visor, the other by bloodstained shrapnel.

The twin demons tumble and brawl until their energy is almost spent, rolling on top of the other in a bid for dominance until finally they come to a stop, teetering over the edge with Isaac firmly on top. Blow after savage blow rains down onto his opponent's face, intense rage behind every last bit of force behind the pummelling.

His opponent stops putting up any resistance. The Demon doesn't notice.

His opponent stops breathing. The Demon doesn't notice.

His opponent and himself are falling over the edge. The Demon only notices when, as the wind whistles around him and he pauses to catch his breath, that behind the visor, the face he has been destroying is his own...

###

Gabriel brushed dirt off his suit, the gesture clearly out of habit rather than any real attempt to clean the garment: it had gathered so much _filth_ and blood and fluid that it was pointless to do anything with it. As soon as...**if** they ever got to safety, the suit would probably have to be destroyed, so extensive was the damage.

Not for the first time, he wished he had a cigarette or at the very least, had got some measure of sleep several hours ago. Time was rapidly starting to blur together, as was his vision; although whether that was due to sleep deprivation and exhaustion or blood loss he did not know. What he did know was that whilst he appreciated the concern, the Scotsman's attempts at shielding him from harm were annoying to say the least.

Ewan was standing in front of the Spy, shield at the ready, firing off pipebombs wildly into the forces below that attempted to get near. With these numbers, making use of controlled detonations or attempting to use some degree of precision was simply a waste of time and effort. He glanced back for a moment as he reloaded, taking note of the Medic slumped by the dispenser Dell had managed to hastily throw together, the nearby mini-sentry clicking crazily, the small gun already out of ammo.

Nils was lying against the wall, healing rays covering him, his own Medigun passing over the wounded who had been carefully placed nearby or were currently sitting up, needing just a moment before joining the fray once more. Sighing, he glanced over at Dell, who was limping over to the mini-sentry, refilling its ammo and with some effort unloading a normal sentry to watch over their flank. The Engineer had refused treatment since they'd taken this position, insisting that others needed it more and that the rays from the dispenser would be enough.

The foes just kept coming, as surely as the snow kept falling. Thankfully, as terrible as the conditions were in this abandoned mountain base, it seemed the decision to come here had some wisdom behind it. The number of foes and in particular, the quality of their equipment, had rapidly diminished as they ascended higher and in these conditions it looked like no attack helicopters would risk approach. Still, even if the threat was reduced and there were less of them at any one time, the flood of attackers did not seem to cease and everyone was having their doubts.

Glancing down at his revolver, Gabriel stepped past the Demoman and half-heartedly fired a few shots into the crowd, ignoring Ewan rolling his eye and sighing. The masked man slipped the revolver away and instead checked his pockets, daring to hope. Those conscious and not immediately occupied watched as the Spy became more frantic until he finally made a sound of success that was most likely garbled French.

With a weak smile, the Frenchman tossed his last grenade down into the melee, the orb not exploding but instead releasing noxious gas and foul chemicals into the horde, who slowly started to feel the effects. They started to stumble, some fainted, others coughed and hacked as others took on a green hue of skin and became sick.

Stumbling back behind the Demoman to join Nils and Dell in their rest, the Spy barely noticed the thumbs-up the sitting Pyro gave or the smile of the Soldier as the American got to his feet, hefting his rocket launcher and joining Ewan at hammering the waves of attackers away with explosives.

How long would this go on for? How long could the supplies last? Dell was finding himself increasingly unable to scrounge up enough metal to keep them alive and protected, whilst Nils was uncertain that the spare Medigun could keep up: both with the amount of damage and with the continuous usage. Even in the most drawn-out battles of the past it had not seen anywhere near as much constant use and its effects did seem to be becoming drastically weaker with time...

###

Void. Null. Nothingness. Eternity. Limbo.

Whatever you called it, it was empty, a vast expanse of _nothing_ that was still infinitely preferable to the storm of sorrows he had faced before.

Isaac walked. He knew not why he walked, nor for how long, he merely walked. It could have been days, it could have been minutes, who could really tell in a place without time? It might have been death, it may have been sleep, but did it really matter? So he walked, lost in the emptiness, his mind a blank state and the whole affair was strangely soothing to his beaten mind.

It was hard to tell when it had happened, when the nothing had suddenly become _something_, but all the same it happened without warning and took some time for him to adjust to the concept. He blinked, not sure what he was looking at, more than a little annoyed that something had ruined his peace. Annoyed...at least until his mind returned to normalcy and put the pieces together.

Standing there was his team once more, his old team, the ones he had started this all for. It seemed as if they had come to comfort him and guide his way once more...

###

Miss Pauling carefully looked through her notes, strolling into her own office and carefully pulling her chair out before sitting down to make sense of it all. Intelligence suggested that against all odds, Hale had fallen to the rogue mercenaries and they had been able to escape with only one wounded...or possibly dead. The Administrator had managed to seize enough power within the government and the underworld respectively by this point to amass truly terrible forces of both soldiers and other mercenaries alike against the so-called "Team Fortress".

Indeed, were it anyone else, the sheer number of forces scattered around the country, staking out key locations, the trapping of old bases...it would be beyond overkill and it seemed more like desperation than the normal careful and precise plans her she was known for. Perhaps the death of Hale had struck her employer more than she'd ever let show?

_Crazy_ theories aside...something had to be done.

Even if they were down a member and had essentially the full military might of the world at their heels, the most powerful woman in the world's assistant couldn't shake this feeling of unease. At the very least...they should probably investigate the area Hale had fought the mercenaries in (and pretty much fought the land too, from the looks of it) and maybe see if the Australian's body could be recovered. Even if he was dead, such a powerful man, not to mention one with such high exposure to Australium would no doubt prove to be of great use to some of the company's less..._moral_...scientists.

And on that thought, Miss Pauling placed her papers into a neatly organised pile in the appropriate place and made a phone call...

###

_Silence_. A chill wind sweeps through the snowy wastes outside as an ancient heating system kicks into life within the barren base, the stench of **death** from the valley below all too obvious even from within the musty walls.

Supplies are gathered, wounds are attended to and some measure of rest is finally obtained, the chaos _frozen_ in time within their minds.

But it is within the slumbering mind of the one lost to the **darkness** that _true chaos_ reigns, the shadows of insanity all too clear in his eyes as he slowly opens them once more...

Elsewhere, a team of a different nature carefully navigates the destruction, descending into a very different _darkness_, searching for what may remain of the great **beast**, hoping to reawaken that power once more.

And so...hidden by the white flurry of snow and the shadowy depths of the abyss respectively, twin terrors beyond mortal comprehension rest. One **awakens** from his endless **nightmares** and the other lies in _wait_ for those who may seek to learn from his _defeat_ at the hands of the Crimson **Demon**.


	24. Frozen Fate

**Author's notes:** Only got one exam and my driving test left, then hopefully chapters should be somewhat more frequent. Don't really have much to say about this chapter, it's a bit of a breather and gives us a few more details here and there.  
>Would like to once again thank my readers and I apologise if I have been overusing usages of demon, beast, heaven and hell, but they seemed appropriate and are something are running themes. Likewise, if I've been neglecting any character on the team, I'll try and sort that out. Piece by piece things will be revealed in due time...<p>

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter 24: Frozen Fate<strong>_

Isaac slowly blinks his eyes, the ceiling of the cold room slowly swimming into focus as his consciousness pulls itself out of the murky darkness. A slight shiver, his breath visible in the frosty air as he exhales and coughs. Some figure he can't make out is there, holding him and offering something...

Ah! Water! Only just realising how thirsty he was, the former-RED gulps down the contents of the glass and leans back into his bed. Mind now refreshed and vision clear, he turns to face Nils, the Medic turning to deactivate the nearby Medigun.

"I am glad to see that you are finally awake und well, Herr Howard. You've been out for...quite some time."

The German doctor adjusted his glasses before moving the Medigun to one side, tutting at some scratches and nicks the device has acquired over its use on the field. The room was sparse, a few beds, various savaged medical supplies and a nearby heater that strained but ultimately failed to remove the chill from the air. Whatever base they were currently residing at had clearly seen better times; the walls were a mess of cracks, chipped paint and dust. Pipes around the room were rusted and broken, with a single window offering some insight as to his location...or it would be offering clues if he could see anything out of it.

"...were you able to save everyone? Is Hale...?"

Any further questions the Texan might have had were stopped as Nils merely turned and looked at him, his eyes cold and bloodshot. Judging from the bags under his eyes, the man hadn't slept much, if at all, recently. Just how long had he been unconscious for the Medic, who was used to few hours of sleep, to have deteriorated so much?

"Shush. Your little sacrifice back there was successful, you were able to hold off the Beast long enough for me and Herr Conagher to collect everyone and the results of the overcharged Life Sparker proved to be most..."

The Medic paused here, pacing slightly as he searched for an appropriate word in English and failed.

"...interesting. In any case, zie rest of the team were able to recover from the brink of death, despite my worst fears. And as for your little stunt..."

It was here that Nils turned back to Isaac, suddenly uncomfortably close, a pained expression on his face.

"I don't know what exactly you did to unnaturally prolong that Über-Overdrive of yours, but it was enough to destroy most of the landscape and force Dell to risk his life to collect your battered body! And even then, you'd pushed your drained body so far as to be asleep for an entire week as the rest of us struggled to survive!"

Slamming a gloved hand on a nearby desk, the doctor didn't notice as the rickety frame collapsed, causing the needles and bandages to clatter off onto the floor. The Engineer gulped, taking in the sight of Nils' rage for another moment before the tired German sighed deeply, turning away from his patient, speaking much softer, forcing Isaac to strain his ears to listen.

"...so much destruction, and yet you slept. You'd lost so much blood and even with the wounds sealed, your breathing was so shallow...we feared we'd lose you in that **madness**."

"Madness, doc? What...what exactly happened out there?"

Perhaps the former-RED should have been a little more taken aback by having just lost an entire week (he'd certainly not meant to push himself that far!) but something massive had clearly happened and a sudden sense of guilt drowned him. What had his team had to endure whilst fleeing with his body?

"...you should be resting, Isaac. Let me check on the others first, then maybe we can together tell you..."

And with that, the Medic left, closing a battered door behind him. The Engineer shivered once more, staring at the ceiling, trying to calm himself down. What better way could he pass the time and distract himself than by putting a little further thought into the mysteries that still surrounded TF Industries and the entire conflict? He certainly wasn't going to be pulling any strategies for what to do next yet, not until he'd gotten some details.

Glancing one last time at the window, which he now released was coated in snow, Isaac wrapped himself in the stained and tattered blanket on his bed.

###

Eventually Isaac was brought to meet the rest of the team, after Nils had confirmed he was okay to walk. They'd thankfully managed to create something of a meeting area in one of the rooms on the lower levels that actually had some measure of heat to it. The room was filthy, full of broken junk, held a rumbling from nearby pipes, but at least the heating worked here and there were chairs. The rest of the team looked mostly okay, but a few winced when they thought nobody was looking, and they all shared the same exhausted look as the Medic.

The Engineer found himself in the midst of a terrible twist of fate, the tale woven by their words one that boggled belief. A tangled mess of viewpoints didn't help his understanding, but nonetheless, the true chaos of the situation rapidly became apparent and his respect for the rest of Team Fortress soared.

After healing from their confrontation with Hale, narrowly recovering Isaac's battered form and disposing of the explosively overworked Life Sparker, they had set their sights on repairing their modified trailer and returning to their original course. Unfortunately, in the time it had taken to deal with Hale and repair it, they'd found their route blocked by a truly ridiculous level of soldiers and vehicles, including a fair-sized deployment of tanks.

And so they were forced to change their plans, taking detour after detour as they shot, burned, blasted and hacked their way through their enemies, a seemingly never-ending stream coming from every direction. It wasn't known how such massive numbers had suddenly come against them, why several nation's armed forces were present or why the Administrator had waited so long to unleash this upon them, but one thing was for certain: this wasn't anything like previous attacks.

Indeed, under previous assaults and chases they'd been able to hold off their foes with minimal worries or damage. This time was sheer chaos, an eternal onslaught of varied foes that hounded them to the ends of the earth. Every possible escape was blocked, every hidden safe-haven destroyed, every form of attack from every possible direction struck them.

They attacked with bombers and attack 'copters from above. They attacked with soldiers and mercenaries and police and armoured cars and tanks from the front. Assault craft and Special Forces bit into their sides, drones and engineered monstrosities clawed at their rear. Explosions and machines tore through the ground at their feet.

Scout claimed to see battleships waiting by the distant coast, Demoman claimed to see various mythical monsters, Soldier stated that he saw a mushroom cloud in the distance and Spy spoke in hushed tones of what resembled a giant Pyro, cackling with satanic glee as it stomped from the bowels of hell itself.

Taking such descriptions with more than just a grain of salt, the situation was still dire. Their vehicle and plans were both destroyed and they fought on...and on and on and on. Carrying the wounded Isaac, they pushed through an endless swarm on foot. Wounded themselves, they shielded one another, carrying those who could not walk. Separated by smoke and fire and explosions and earthquakes and a sea of corpses, they struggled to reach each other once more.

And so it was, that Team Fortress, so confident and proud, able to take on the best the world had to throw at them, realised the true extent of their foe's power. Perhaps the Administrator had waited so long simply because it took a considerable time to amass her forces from across the entire planet? Perhaps upon realising that even Saxton Hale was struggling to subdue them she got nervous and threw everything at them? Maybe, just maybe...this was just another game to her, to toss them a sliver of hope before crushing them down again?

Nobody knew exactly how it had come about, but they did know that the stench of death hung over them like the Grim Reaper, cackling away as he sharpened his scythe. Days turned to nights, nights turned to days and supplies turned to nothingness, consumed or abandoned. And so they scavenged, sleepless and unresting, hoping that the next wave would be the last. Sometimes they succumbed to both injuries and tiredness, forcing the rest of the team to find a defendable location and hold out as long as they could. Sometimes they had to attack one of the less-defended bases to get the food, medicine and ammo they needed.

But never could they stay still in one place or truly rest.

It was to be the mountains that would be their saviour. The climbs were tough and arduous, the air cold and piercing as they greedily swallowed it, hearts racing. But there were less enemies there, vehicles could not make the climb and fierce winds coupled with sudden storms prevent aircraft from getting too close. Eventually, after what had seemed like a frantic eternity, they'd lost all pursuers and were able to locate one of the few abandoned and forgotten bases TF Industries hadn't been able to send their forces to.

The base was run-down beyond belief, most buildings little more than rubble in the snow. Even the main building in which the team now resided was a complete wreck, the walls barely shielding them from the snow that threatened to consume them. With a little effort, the major holes were filled and Dell, accompanied by Ashley set about restoring some heat to the facility. In the meantime, Grigori prowled the nearby wastes for firewood and building materials and Nils looked after the others, still re-cooperating from the journey.

As far as they'd been able to figure, the base pre-dated the current conflict, with no spare weapons anywhere and no respawn rooms. There didn't appear to be two elements to the territory and no marks of RED and BLU remained, hinting that the land may have belonged solely to TF Industries or some other sub-company not under the control of either of the Mann Brothers.

In any case, with the sheer numbers they'd cut down, the deaths of those who knew their last position, the snow covering their tracks and the mountains being too treacherous for anyone to scout out and find them, they were safe for now. Indeed, they'd been able to rest here for a few days before Isaac woke up. Perhaps with their tenth member shown to be well, they could truly breath easy and thoughts could go into their course of action.

But for now...

###

Dell frowned, calling over Ashley, wondering where on earth the Pyro kept vanishing off too whilst he was trying to sort out the heating. He'd been able to temporarily restore heating to the base through the use of some cobbled-together generators, electrical heaters found in the storage room and the occasional wood fire but...these were hardly proper solutions. The unnamed base did have its own proper heating system, which he'd been working on, but so many pipes were broken and so many rooms were destroyed, making it a painful effort.

And, even when he did manage to restore some measure of warmth, some critical pipe somewhere would freeze or the boiler would have some rusty part fall off. Which explained why he was glaring at a frozen pipe and calling for the Pyro, who was all too happy to play out in the snow, shrieking with muffled childish glee and leaping around.

"Dag nabbit dabbit, what the heck is Ashley up to!"

Leaving the pipework and his toolbox behind for a moment, the former-BLU Engineer walked to the window to find the Pyro (who, he reminded himself with a grumble, was supposed to be helping him) was sneaking up on the Heavy for reasons unknown. It looked like Grigori was planning on searching the nearby woods for any branches that could make good firewood or maybe for any food. The Russian was surprisingly good in the cold, easily capable of finding edible berries and had made mention of planning on hunting some of the wildlife for meat.

Grigori, his large form easily ploughing through the snow as if it wasn't there, didn't notice the muffled giggles of Ashley until the Pyro had scored a perfect headshot to the back of his head with a snowball. Slowly turning around and cracking his neck before grinning, madness soon followed. It wasn't long until the Engineer, frozen pipe forgotten, had gone out to join them and forget his worries for but a little while.

###

Elsewhere, the Sniper, Scout, Demoman and Spy were sat around a wobbly table, playing cards, drinking what liquor they'd been able to find hidden in one of the storage rooms underground (it almost seemed like a requirement that bases held emergency alcohol in them, they'd been very lucky in that regard) and swapping stories. Ewan spoke of monsters and magic, of legends and demons, slowly becoming louder and more drunk. Kevin bragged about anything and everything, taking his alcohol in small doses and trying not to choke. Jack was a surprisingly good storyteller, speaking of the dangers and horrors that could be found in the Australian outback, claiming that "just about everything there wants to kill you, up to and including the sky itself".

As for Gabriel...he was simply content to watch the other men get drunk as he won hand after hand, face smug as he slowly and subtly manipulated the other men into making substantial bets. Maybe next morning they'd realise their mistakes, but for now he was all too happy to stifle his snorting laughter as the gambling became more and more excessive, the Demoman and Scout hopelessly in his debt whilst the Sniper became wary and soon excused himself.

It was hardly professional, it was hardly fair to his teammates, but the Spy had been through more stress than a man of his calibre should have to endure and a bit of fun was more than needed at this point.

###

In the room which had been transformed into a medical bay, Nils slept peacefully, dreaming fondly of a life without war, of how things would be when this was all over. The Medic breathed gently, wrapped up in several layers, face content within his cocoon of warmth, the stress faded from his features, suddenly making him look much younger.

Nearby, sparing a short glance back at the sleeping doctor, Isaac stood, his form towering over the blue prints and scattered parts before him. Cross-referencing scrawled hand-written notes, he doublechecked everything one last time before raising his gaze to the frozen world outside.

Danger still lurked out there. The world was still in danger. Jaws brimmed with sharp teeth were ready to snap on them at any time.

And yet...

With a small, warm smile, the Demon left his work, quietly closing the door after checking on the Medic one last time. Strolling casually through the cold corridors and into the refreshing air held under the darkening sky, he looked into the distance, seeing not the mountains or forest, but something else entirely. Even as he returned, settled down and fell into dreamless sleep, the smile did not leave his face...

###

In the depths of another, much more advanced base, countless workers scurry, trying not to show weakness or inefficiency as their master looks over time. Clothed in purple and colder than any icy tundra nature could conjure, the Administrator looks down at them with unveiled disgust. She turns and leaves, the gathered remains of the man who was once Saxton Hale continuing to be experimented on and put under various tests.

Sitting at her own office, looking through the data they had gathered from the latest attempt to eliminate Team Fortress, Miss Pauling could only hazard guesses at what her employer was planning. Despite gathering forces from around the world and trapping the mercenaries, cutting them off from most bases they could ransack, let alone reach civilisation, they had escaped. The casualty number was little more than an optimistic estimate but the numbers still brought bile to even her ruthless mouth. Just what was the Administrator playing at, to have delayed with bringing out the heavier guns and to use such tactics...?

A spark of sudden realisation, a shocked gasp and some frantic rifling through papers...

###

Weary of _war_, trapped and beaten down, Team Fortress continue to escape the full might of an entire **world** after their heads.

Tired, in need of **rest** and recovery, mortal men do what mortal men must to keep their _sanity_ and state of mind intact.

A warrior of _circumstance_, a genius of **creation** turned to a demon of **destruction**, sleeps _content_, ready for whatever **fate** may come at him and those most dear to him in this **frozen** land.


	25. March of the Machines

**Author's notes:** Yeah, I know I said there'd be more frequent updates, but hey, my last exam was earlier this week and I needed to relax a little. To make up for things, have this super-long chapter, it's about twice the length of the average one. Enjoy!

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter 25: March of the Machines<strong>_

Last night the storm had cleared up, at least for now. It was only a matter of time before they were attacked again, surely by now their location would have been discovered and even if they were still safe, there was nothing to be gained from staying here. They'd gathered what little supplies were available at this old abandoned base, they rested and healed, gathered or fashioned their own ammo and were just about ready to set off.

Nils had checked up on everyone and whilst he'd prefer another day or two to ensure everyone was definitely fully recovered beyond any doubt in his mind, he knew that practically, they didn't have another day. This was war, you can't just expect to be able to rest just because you're tired and injured; the enemy has no such courtesy. The Medic would prefer to have been able to look into constructing a new experimental Medigun based on the designs of the now-destroyed Life Sparker, the results and some discussions with Isaac regarding the overcharging the Übercharge.

Dell and Isaac, with some assistance from Grigori, Jane and Ewan for brute force, had been able to fashion another trailer of sorts. Unlike their former vehicle, this was truly more of a trailer than a motorised mini-base. They'd cobbled it together from scrap metal, wood, and some large tyres they'd found scattered around the base that seemed designed to handle the snow. Despite the poor construction materials and very little time they'd had, it nonetheless was surprisingly sturdy and they'd fitted some sort of advanced suspension to allow it to handle the steep descent and general harshness of the mountains.

Whilst they'd been unable to construct an engine and steering mechanism, something they claimed was due to lack of time more than lack of materials (much to the disbelief of Gabriel and Kevin), they had added some brakes and oddly, several bars to grip onto. The pair of Engineers simply explained that they expected things to go downhill sooner or later (causing Ashley and Jack to look at each other and facepalm) and that if the team had to all jump onto the trailer whilst barrelling down a mountain at high speed, dodging bullets, it would be embarrassing if one were to simply fall or be thrown off. A few spots also had fixings in the wall and base to attach sentries.

"Way I reckon it, we just got to check over it to ensure it holds together as securely as possible, attach a few mini-sentries and a dispenser or two and we'll be set. Already got everythin' loaded up, not long now before we can git going."

Dell looked back on the cobbled together creation. Sure, it was simple, plain and would likely be categorised by most as nothing more than a rolling deathtrap, but heck if he wasn't still fond of it. Might not look like much, but it'd been thrown together in less than a day and with what few materials they'd had, that they'd been able to make something stable was in itself impressive.

"Have to give it to ya, hardhat, wouldn't surprise me if ya could build yourself your own base and armour or somethin' if you had enough time, even if you were stuck in a cave with nuthin' but a box of scrap."

Kevin smirked, giving Dell a smack on the back that was deliberately a bit too strong. The boy tried not to let his disappointment show when despite the hard blow the Texan didn't even stumble.

Things were looking up. Or at least...they had been.

###

Snowflakes had started to descend from the heavens once more and everyone was just getting ready to go. Grigori stood by the trailer, gripping reins in his large hands, currently balled into fists. It was agreed that the Russian, being by far the strongest and most used to such conditions, would be pulling the trailer along. The two Engineers still wanted to try and fashion an engine, but with time against them and it arguably being safer to pull the trailer along and potentially lose it down a steep drop than drive off the edge with them all in it, they relented.

As for the Heavy himself, he showed a brief sadness that he'd be used like "mere horse to pull little wagon" to use his words, but that quickly faded when Jane of all people, encouraged the Russian, reminding him that he was the only one the team could trust and that he was the strongest of all of them. Unused to a compliment and encouragement from the normally insane and angry Soldier, Grigori found himself taken aback and felt his ego boosted just a little. Despite the weight behind him, he still carried all his weapons, Sasha attached to his back, the quad-barrelled shotgun dangling from his waist, a box containing sandviches to the other side.

Everyone was ready. Except for a certain Australian, who was nowhere to be found. Fortunately, Jack quickly made an appearance, running through the thick snow to meet them, hand securing his hat to his head as he huffed and puffed, clearly red faced despite the wintery chill. Less fortunately, the Sniper brought them bad news:

"Huff...it's a right shocking scene up ahead...puff...huff...was lookin' around through my scope, trying to see if there was anything coming towards us..."

Jack coughed and wheezed, bent over, before straightening up again and continuing.

"Found myself a good high spot for sniping and noted that for a little while, with no snow falling, my visibility was a bit better. Not sure exactly what I saw, but there were lots of them: small, shiny, coming towards us. Not only that, but I heard a great whizzing noise and BOOM! Some large sphere made a right mess o' some trees to the East. Dunno what it was, but I saw more of the silver things emerging from the woods near where that thing had landed."

The Australian, fully regaining his breath, pulled out his crossbow and notched a single arrow into place.

"...Let's go mates, before they get us."

###

They were robots. Most were at least vaguely humanoid and were just above half the average height of a man. And there were absolutely tons of them, their shiny metallic grey quickly losing its shine and dulling as they marched through the mountains, the snow slowly started to fall heavier and heavier. Faced with this second onslaught, this time not of mere mortal men, but mass-produced machines, the team readied their weapons, stood their ground and one amongst them smiled.

The American Soldier's smile grew and hefting his rocket launcher into position he looked upwards into the darkening sky and then into the distance at the mass of steel approaching. Eyes shifted swiftly under his helmet as his mind worked until finally, with a sudden snap to his conclusion, he stood at full height and challenged the growing wind with his own voice:

"Listen up men! We are facing an unknown enemy in harsh conditions with limited supplies, I need us two split up to deal with this _threat_. Kevin and Gabriel, I want you to get your _skinny_ asses out there and give us some information on this robot menace. Jack, you _hippy_ Aussie **slacker**! I need you to secure a high vantage point, relay what you can see and eliminate any key threats. Grigori, I need you to backup the main offensive team and continue to transport the trailer. The rest of you _maggots_ are with me! Try to stay close to the trailer and maintain radio contact. Destroy these robots from the future who are here to take **our** American jobs! **CHARGE!**"

His orders issued, Jane stomped ahead, firing a rocket at his feet, launching himself up into the air and creating a snow-less crater in the earth. The wind rushing past his ears as he soared through the air, Soldier screamed his war cry and launched his aerial assault at the confused machines below, scattering groups of them into little more than scrap with his precision barrages.

The rest of the team simply stood there bewildered until Isaac coughed and got their attention.

"Well...dunno what that was all about, but the man's got the right idea and apart from that bit at the end, his orders make sense. Be careful, in these conditions visibility will be greatly reduced, as will communication distance. If another storm comes over, we may lose radio altogether. Keep this in mind and return closer to the trailer if you lose contact."

A shrug and then everyone went their separate ways, the Scout vanishing in a blur of motion as the Spy simply vanished, the Sniper trudging off to one side, firing the occasional crossbow bolt into the fray. The Engineers went ahead with the Demoman and Medic to rejoin Soldier, whilst Heavy brought Sasha to bear and brought his bulk and the trailer behind him smashing through the deep snowfall. The Pyro went ahead, melting away snow to clear an easier path for the Heavy, who expressed his thanks, before alternating between the forward group and protecting the trailer.

And so the battle waged on over howling winds and bitter cold. Shot after shot echoed through the mountains, causing countless avalanches as man met machine with fierce fury. For every robot they scattered to the cruel winds, another ten seemed to take their place. They were simple things, unable to deal well with the team's tactics and varied weaponry or the deep snow and complex terrain, but for all their simplicity, their threat was not to be understated.

Jane learned this the hard way when he was bowled over by several familiar looking rockets to his gut, causing him to roll dangerously close to a sheer drop. It was Ewan who picked his battered form up and called for Nils to train his Medigun on the wounded Soldier. Those machines made up for their fragility and simplicity with firepower and sheer numbers. This would not be an easy fight.

###

Dell was having a hard time at things. While he had modified his Frontier Justice and Pistol to have larger clips and hit a little harder, he was finding this onslaught particularly trying on him. The machines were fragile compared to themselves, but they were certainly not pushovers and bullets in particular weren't particularly effective against them. A good shotgun blast at close range destroyed most in a single hit, but some were able to withstand much more punishment and from beyond a certain range the buckshot did very little besides bounce off, forcing him to pick them off with the pistol.

Mini-sentries had been deployed all over the place and were struggling to keep up with the sheer numbers. The sentries were preventing the enemies from getting too close and allowed them to continue to advance even as the machines formed a circle around them but they were too slow at actually destroying them. Even level three sentries were much better suited to handling single or few targets, not madness like this. All too many of his deployed helpers were clicking futilely, ammo spent, before being torn to pieces, the mechanical monstrosities seeming to feed on their metal.

Dropping back to the trailer, he took a few moments to reload his weapons, grab more ammo and replenish the ammo of the sentries attached to the trailer which were currently protecting Grigori from being flanked. They'd avoided loading too many buildings onto it, for fear that it would hinder the Heavy's progress too much. The man's exertions were clearly keeping him warm despite the freezing wind, his minigun spinning and chewing through ammo and foe alike if any were foolish enough to approach and hadn't been gunned down by the sentries yet.

He gave a nod to the Russian before heading out again, jaw set square as he gazed out at the sea of machines flowing against them.

###

Ashley wasn't sure what to make of the situation. The robots seemed to ignore being set on fire, and it took a good few seconds of exposure to the flame, even at close range, before their movements halted and only slag remained. So the Pyro had taken to rushing about the place, flitting from front to rear to sides and then back to the trailer.

It was fortunate that Ashley returned to the trailer so frequently and had been craving out paths with their flames, for the familiar sound of someone (or something) uncloaking had reached their ears and a quick, instinctive squeeze of the trigger led to a heap of melted metal. The drone was almost like that which Isaac had created back at the confrontation at Teufort, capable of cloaking like a Spy and even possessing a knife.

Several more of the Spybots (as the Pyro now affectionately referred to the doomed robots destined to be melted into slag) attempted to strike, both flanking the main attackers of the team and attempting to sabotage the trailer. Heart lightened by burning these sneaky but predictable machines and the thanks of Grigori, Ashley laughed their way back into battle and made a new observation:

It may have took more time than they liked to kill the robots with the flamethrower, but ones that were set alight and then left alone started to smoke, sizzle and slow after a while before expiring.

Interest regained, the Pyro set about simply setting as many on fire as possible, the flames touching the machines only long enough to spark a fire. Dancing from place to place, all around the snowy wastes, Ashley flanked and struck out with the flamethrower's new firing modes, spitting streams of fire and belching fireballs into the masses.

Watching with excitement, the fires spread and the robots became slow, easy prey for the others, often expiring on their own before they could get too close. Absent-mindedly reflecting a barrage of grenades and ignoring the resulting explosion, a smile grew on the pyromaniac's masked face.

###

Ewan was whirling around, the blissful sounds of explosions lighting the fire in his heart as he fired of in all directions. The conditions were dreadful, even damper and colder than the hills of his homeland; the visibility reduced further than even the worst fog as the snow fell and coated them white. But all the same, for all the cold and hard footing and poor vision (which his single eye was not helping with), he couldn't help but find some enjoyment in his work.

His explosives worked very well on the massive clusters of robots, a well placed detonation of some pipebombs leading to mass destruction and the raining of scorched metals onto the earth below. The blasts of his explosives sailing through the air crippled or knocked over those that were not destroyed, making them easy to destroy. He'd noticed that a good few of them used explosives themselves, familiar grenades occasionally landing by him.

Indeed, a lot of the weapons used against them did seem familiar, and as the battle wore on, their enemies grew more dangerous. More and more were equipped with weapons, the variety of robot seemed to grow and many could take a bit more punishment. The Demoman was even taken by surprise once as a large machine stormed out of nowhere on treads, shield and sword in hand. Instincts took over and the Black Scottish Cyclops met the charging foe with a charge of his own, riot shield smashing into the robot, swords clashing and grinding, sparks in the air.

###

Kevin darted to and fro, rolling in the snow and trying not cry out in pain as his back hit sharp rocks beneath the surface. The runner was keeping active, but the chill had sunk into his bones as surely as his legs had sunk into the snow and his fragile frame was taking quite the punishment, from both the weather and the robots.

His modified Force-A-Nature blew apart even the toughest machines he'd faced so far with one or two close-range shots and the smaller bots slowly deactivated when enough nails were embedded in them, but the enemy's durability was not the problem, it was their attack power and numbers.

Scout was good at dodging past enemies and flanking lone opponents; he wasn't as effective ploughing through an endless sea of steel, especially when said steel was packing serious heat on his tail. His speed and reflexes had been enough to get him a good way into the enemy's ranks and so far he'd dodged the countless bullets and explosives and even bursts of flame, but it was only a matter of time.

And all the while, he was frequently chattering into his earpiece radio at anyone within range.

"Damnit, ow, that was close. Who the fuck thought it'd be a good idea to mass-produce freaking robots and give them guns? Is it just me or are they using stuff similar to what we used to have? Hey, is that a...? SHIT! Aw jeez, godamnit, fucking cheap robots using the fucking Liberty Launcher, increased rocket speed my ass! Who do they think they are, the RED Soldier! Crap, sorry Isaac, if you're there, that was a low blow. And another thing-"

Whether anyone was still paying attention to the Boston runner as he continued to go on and on as he slipped through the enemy lines was debatable, but he'd hit on a good point by accident, in typical Scout fashion: the enemy appeared to be using a lot of Mann Co weapons they'd used themselves in the past. Thankfully, they appeared to be slightly watered-down versions (likely due to cost for such sheer numbers) but nonetheless, the weapons left a mark.

"Yo, spook, you got to wherever the hell these guys are coming from yet man? I'm dyin' out here! Hey, Medic! MEEEEEDIIIIIC!"

###

At that moment Gabriel was silent, despite having heard Kevin's question. The Frenchman had indeed been able to get close to what he hoped was the base of these toys. Dropping his cloak a few times he had discovered that his disguises and weapons were useless against these machines, but dropping a sapper caused a surprisingly wide area of effect on them, causing them to short out and collapse. He was sure that with time he could probably find some weak point to strike at with his knife, but time was currently of the essence and the variety in robot design prevented him from finding a common weakness.

Some were humanoid and walked on primitive legs, most used wheels or treads, some were more like simple robots and others were more like animals in nature. They all had different means of attack, many wielding inferior mass-produced copies of Mann Co weapons, while others relied on claws and electrified limbs. And...

They appeared to be coming from large metal spheres partly embedded into the snow and rock. The spheres seemed to act as some sort of home base or miniature production facility. They were guarded by several level two and three sentries, a few of the tougher robot models and oddly, a type he'd yet to see seemed to be maintaining the spheres, almost like an Engineer. And from the spheres, robots continued to come out, numbers vastly exceeding what one could expect from the size of the grey orbs.

Finding a shadowy and dry space underneath an overhanging ledge, Gabriel activated his radio, uncertain if the message would reach his teammates intact, if at all.

"Gentlemen? I have sighted several of the spheres the Sniper reported seeing earlier. They appear to be producing our little robot friends and are guarded fairly well. I will attempt to sabotage what I can but I believe a full assault may be necessary. Ze Scout should look for more of these hidden away somewhere, and if possible, clear a path for Monsieur Sniper to get to a closer vantage point. Ze sentries and guard robots appear to have a very limited area in which they'll attack and should be sitting ducks for long-range attacks."

###

Jack scowled. The snow, whilst still far away from being a blizzard like that they'd trudged through and lost their pursuers in when they came to the abandoned base they'd just left, was enough to be a right pain in the arse. The sheer number of foes, the robots and scrap metal reflecting what little light there was and the cold seeping into his unmoving form made his job both difficult and frustrating.

Moving a little to get the snow off him and get some heat into his bones, he went back to the scope. He'd started to pick up on the differing robot types and unless his eyesight was sorely mistaken, a lot of them appeared to be based on the mercenaries themselves in a way. The rocket launcher users were particularly suicidal and attempted to juggle their opponents with the explosions, whilst the small and swifter bots tried to flank and attack at close range. There was a crazy sort of robot that seemed to be malfunctioning and spitting flames everywhere, including at its fellow machines, that he'd not seen for a while, grenade-launching bots, and kamikaze robots that charged at his teammates.

There was even some sort of strange spider-like contraption that found a good spot to grip into with its claws and then deployed a sniper rifle of its own, the loud gunshots from it eventually alerting the Sniper to its presence and causing him to punch a hole through its body with his high-calibre rounds. He'd been mostly sticking to alerting the main force of any notable changes in the waves of attackers and had managed to find a few that counted as priority targets.

Namely there was a slow moving humanoid robot like the rocket-users who deployed some strange contraption that made horrible beeping whirring noise that could be heard across the frozen battlefield and bathed nearby machines in a strange otherworldly glow. Enemies near this "Buffbot" seemed to be able to shrug off more damage and were more coordinated in their attacks. In a similar vein, there was a fragile flying machine that was rarely seen, but when it descended into the chaos on its rotor blades, it emitted some sort of vapour or mist that seemed to repair damage done to the tougher robots and in some cases augmented them by drawing in scraps of metal to them.

Finally, some waves would contain massive hulking machines which slowly trudged through the terrain; wielding massive miniguns that would tear through his teammates in seconds should they get too close. Such robots were the main target of what little ammunition he had. He idly noted that he'd yet to see anything based off an Engineer or Spy yet, but that the team probably had.

###

Grigori continued to pace on despite his growing tiredness and the relentless swarm of enemies shooting at him. Even now the robots threw themselves at the trailer, torn and blown apart by the sentries and his beloved Sasha. The cold didn't bother Heavy; his concern was instead of Nils, the Medic currently placed by dispenser on the trailer, his beam trailed on the Russian.

The doctor had been slowly worn down by the attacks and when he last came to the trailer, Grigori insisted that the German rest a little. The Dispenser was helping to keep the doctor warm at least and if the attack group ever got wounded the trailer wasn't too far away. Pyro was frequently nearby, lending a hand and watching his back. He was glad Ashley came by to keep him safe and spread some of that fire around, he was fine going through the snow and could look after himself, but another set of eyes and a clear path meant less effort and exhaustion on his part.

Eventually Nils and Ashley left the Heavy to march forwards alone once more, the clicking and whirring of empty sentries causing him to grit his teeth, eyes alert and darting about, minigun revved up and ready for the next little shiny insect stupid enough to challenge him.

The sight of Dell approaching to lend a hand and replenish the sentries was a welcome one.

###

Nils raced through the snow, straining his ears for further radio contact. He was sure he'd heard the Scout calling for him, somewhere far up ahead and he thought he might have heard the Spy too, although the signal had been weak and little more than static had come through. He hated to admit it, but he wasn't faring as well as he'd have liked and he was quickly feeling the effects of the damp and cold.

Running about to keep everyone alive had helped, and on a few occasions, caused him to slip and injure himself, only to look up and see that his fall had helped him avoid an incoming projectile. Whilst he'd tried to make some improvements to the stock Medigun, he simply hadn't had the facilities necessary to do much with it. Moreover, he'd done a little research into the after-effects of the Overcharged Life-Sparker and didn't like the results.

On the plus side, since the Über, everyone seemed to be able to endure much more than their old limits and he was fairly certain he could correct what had gone wrong with the experimental Medigun given proper time and resources. Unfortunately, the Life Sparker had damaged the devices attached to their hearts which allowed them to be Übered in the first place. It was again, something that could be fixed eventually and for the time being he'd simply rigged the Medigun to function more like his broken prototype, the Quick-Fix. The Megaheal, unlike the standard Übercharge or Kritzkrieg, still seemed to work and the rapid healing was still useful for keeping everyone alive.

He doubted that the effects of the fully-overcharged Life Sparker could be fully replicated again, but had discussed a new concept Medigun with Isaac that should prove to be very useful should they live long enough to make a final assault against TF Industries.

And speaking of Isaac...

###

The Crimon Demon was dancing with Death. Everywhere he looked and turned, there were enemies, twisted mutations of the technology he loved ready to be crushed under his boots. He enjoyed building things and had hoped his sentry, dispenser and teleporter technology could help humankind. He may have joined a mercenary team and become used to the killing, but something about weapons of war, let alone actual robots with some limited AI being used, struck him hard.

And from the looks of things, these machines were based off the team themselves and if he'd heard the Spy right, they'd even had the cheek to use **his** sentry designs to defend their bases, which probably also had some origin from **his** dispenser designs if his hunch was right. The nerve of them...! The nerve of _her_...!

Isaac had, over the course of the battle, started to move further and further away from the rest of his group and the trailer. Earlier on he'd made frequent stops to maintain the buildings and even erect a few temporary buildings for the attack team to make use of, or perhaps for the Scout, Spy or Sniper to reach on their travels. These primitive designs, mass-produced and simplistic in their assault, were no match for his mind, heart, body or burning spirit.

He did not feel the cold; his body was too warm for the wind to steal. He did not slow his advance, the snow melted away by his thrusters as he charged. He did not fall prey to his enemy's onslaught, their repetitive patterns and tactics easy to predict and exploit the machines easy to turn against each other with proper use of terrain.

And he did not waver in his resolve, his spirit too strong and too invested in all he had done to even let this faze him. His team had faced a much worse nightmare than this to keep him alive, his team had together taken down Saxton Hale, his own sword landing the finishing blow the came from the heavens and shattered the earth itself. His team were giving their all and it was high time he repaid the favour!

He had damaged his systems in his showdown with Hale and had rested and done what repairs he could. The Demon was not able to unleash his almighty Über-Overdrive into the world again, but who said he had to? Isaac had instead reworked his systems so that the Übercharge instead helped replenish his normal Overdrives and his own energy faster.

His shotgun erupted thunder with a mighty boom that shattered the darkness, the pieces of scrap metal, so tiny and sparkling in what little light made it past the clouds, falling to the earth so gently like the snowflakes alongside them.

His chaingun whirred and spat fire, melting and exploding countless enemies as he calmly traced a path through their ranks, line after line of machines falling to his continuous fire, the cold air slowly the overheating of the weapon.

Over the radio he heard the rest of the team coming together, everybody ready for the push forward. Jane was raring to go, his own enthusiasm and vigour audible over the wind and explosions and the sounds of countless mechanical limbs, Gabriel was in position to start sapping the enemy's defences, Jack was advancing with the main group, firing his pistols and crossbow whilst searching for a forward sniping position overlooking the spheres. Kevin had found some of the other spheres, noting their slow production of enemies and was ready to distract the easily exploitable AI of the machines. Grigori had stopped pulling the trailer, leaving the sentries to defend as he joined for the charge, Ashley and Nils by his side, the former to watch everyone's back for ambushes and the latter to keep them all alive, having only just returned from healing the Scout. Ewan had his blade at the ready and Dell was constructing some level three sentries, ready to wrangle them and sick of the fighting.

They were waiting for him.

Isaac smiled, face shadowed as the snow started to ease off, the sky slowly lightening. With a single word he gave the command and activated his Overdrive.

And with that, the _fury_ of **Hellfire** was unleashed upon the land of snow and rock and _shattered_ steel.

###

At TF Industries, the Administrator seethed and scowled, watching as the last monitor fizzled out into static. She had hunted them with her own elite and with massive bounties on their heads. She had called in the most brutal and seemingly inhuman man on the planet, a man who regularly jumped out of aircraft with parachutes and wrestled dangerous animals for fun. She had finally amassed armies from around the world and waged a constant barrage of fury and death upon them, cutting off all escape and seemingly securing her victory.

She had lost them and a huge chunk of her worldwide power, lost them as they retreated into a horrific storm, broken and bleeding. They should be dead. She had launched her prototype robotic warriors at them, based on years of data from the RED vs BLU conflict and cutting-edge technology that even Australia had yet to make full use of. They should be dead

And yet they were not dead, not in the slightest. The team was a well-coordinated unit, they'd been able to thin off her army's numbers and find ways to counter them even as her Production Spheres worked frantically to replenish lost numbers. They'd located all the spheres and with the final charge, had overwhelmed her forces.

Not overwhelmed through numbers, but a different sort of advantage entirely. Their conviction, their teamwork, their power, their variety of attacks...it was all too much. As the Heavybot defenders were distracted by rockets and bullets and grenades and that annoying Scout, their Sniper took them out. As the sentries whirred to face the attackers, the Spy disabled them. As the Spheres produced new troops, well-placed pipebombs destroyed the new batch in one swoop. As the remaining machines swarmed them, that mumbling abomination of a Pyro spewed fired and that nutcase Soldier blasted them apart, leaving only small melting groups of what had once been a wall of robots. Tougher attackers were worn down with minigun fire, her own Snipespiders were distracted and shot to pieces by the Scout, flanking attacks were halted by sentries and any damage she did do was reversed by that damn Medic!

And at the centre of it all, leading the charge was that thrice-accursed Engineer, that former RED who had somehow united the mercenaries and turned them against her. They eventually, despite the efforts of her Engiebots, destroyed every last Production Sphere and hunted down the few machines that remained, including a malfunctioning Spyderbot and the one Pyromachiniac (why had she made those anyway, they were more danger to the rest of her forces than to the mercenaries) who'd survived by wandering off and setting a tree alight.

This did not bode well. She would not let all her planning and plotting and scheming be foiled by mere mortal men previously under her command! She would not lose and sooner or later, this so-called "Team Fortress" would be in her _cold_, **steel** grasp.

And. They. Would. **DIE!**

###

The world lightens, sunlight piercing through the clouds once more, dancing over an endless sea of metal embedded in the snow, a thin layer of frost only making the scene sparkle so much more.

The _March of the Machines_ is over, for now. Instead, men like no other find their footing as they try to descend, **destruction** _eternally_ in their wake.

For every impossible obstacle, there is a way forwards. For every hardship there is a lesson. For every fall there is the chance to climb up again.

It is not a case of whether these men will ever find their **freedom**, but rather _how_ they obtain it. Will they earn their peace and end corruption? Will they fall and find their goal in death? Or...

Will the world go up in **flames**, all **hell** unleashed as the world throws all it can at those _mere mortals_ who simply **refuse** to _die_?

_...the battle is not over yet, another foe awaits them in their descent..._

* * *

><p><strong>Author's notes:<strong> I'll try and make sure I have another update up and ready in a week's time, hopefully less. Hopefully that didn't drag on too long. Oh and been meaning to mention this for a while, but apparently quite a few tracks by "Two Steps From Hell" work with some of the more action-packed chapters. "To Glory" works pretty well as a theme for whenever Isaac does something particularly awesome.


	26. The Nightmare Returns!

**Author's notes: **This chapter, or at least, the basic premise behind a certain large chunk of it, is one I've been meaning to do for quite a while. Also, due to the nature of this _special_ chapter, expect to see another update soon, hopefully by the end of the week to follow up this one. Why is this one special, you ask? Sure it's a wee bit longer than the average, but...well, you'll see ;)

_Edit_: Well, that's what I get for uploading this after Meet the Pyro...ahem, been some delays on my end but all being well, the next chapter should still be uploaded before the end of this week. And no, this chapter was written before the Pyromania update, so that's not what's special (or shall I say "odd"?) about this chapter.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter 26: The Nightmare Returns!<strong>_

As the last fragile snowflakes touched the ground and the darkness around them became that of the approaching night rather than that of a storm, the team slowly came to a halt. Exhausted by their battles (and in Grigori's case, of pulling the trailer too) and the difficult trek down, Nils insisted that they stop and set up camp. Kevin and Jane, normally so fiery and insistent on continuing, offered only minimal resistance before agreeing to the idea.

After all, it had been hard enough not to lose anybody or any of their supplies to the steep, icy and rock drops so far and with increasing tiredness it only made sense that they rest. Could they have gone on further? Probably, but some strange sense of foreboding had fell on the group heavier than any blanket of mere snow...

Shuddering and shaking of the sense of dread and the feeling that they needed to be properly rested, they slowly made their way down to a large relatively flat expanse. The edges looked ready to crumble at the slightest touch and there was a sheer drop to one side, but otherwise the sections seemed stable and the path down from here was relatively gentle. Or at least gentler than that time the ground below them had started to shift, causing Grigori and the trailer to fall to a heap on a lower ledge. Some time with the Medic and both Engineers quickly got them back on the move, with Jane and Ewan offering to slowly drag the trailer along until the Heavy recovered.

The Russian refused of course, and so they'd continued their perilous journey, Scout, Spy and Sniper shaking from the cold, Pyro occasionally puffing a small burst from the flamethrower near them. But now...

For now they would rest. It didn't take long between the ten of them to set up their small camp, they'd brought some sturdy, if patchy and old, tents and blankets from the base and with the warmth of the dispenser and no falling snow, the trailer was also a fine spot to sleep. Ashley naturally sorted out the camp fire as Jane distributed the ancient rations he had found, the American clearly used to the military-issue food. The others dug in with less enthusiasm but enjoyed the sustenance all the same, the bitter chill sapping their strength as night fully descended upon the mountain.

Isaac shuffled slightly, trying to get comfortable. As they were still outside and vulnerable, everyone with some degree of armour beyond their usual clothing had opted to wear it to bed in case of any sudden dangers. He had, however, detached the LFD from his back as it would have been impossible to get any sleep with it on. Instead it radiated warmth by his side as he wriggled into his blanket more, ignoring the sting of the wind and the stars shining so brightly above, far away from any city and its light pollution.

The whirring and beeping of sentries watching over them and the crunching of snow underneath the Soldier's feet was oddly soothing in its own way. Even with the sentries and no sign of further attack, the team had agreed to have somebody on guard at all times and Jane had naturally jumped at the chance for first watch, with the others agreeing on an order after him. Hopefully they'd all be able to get some half-decent sleep despite having to be woken for their turn to stand watch...

And with that thought, Isaac drifted away, eyelids heavy, world darkening one shade blacker than the world he saw through his goggles.

###

He was rudely awaken by angry and terrified yelling, the sky above still dark and strangely cloudless, stars twinkling with innocence even as mayhem ravaged the world below. Tired teammates, not fully comprehending the sight before them struggled to get into formation, waking others and not willing to believe their worst fears. Shock, the cold night air and their own pumping hot blood surging with adrenaline woke up the mercenaries and they stood united, eyes locked onto a single burning orb glaring unblinkingly into their souls.

Saxton Hale stood there, chest bare and proud even here in this frozen climate, alive and well, as if he had never fallen, in the flesh.

...except, not quite. There was no mistaking that it was the Australian King, but what was somewhat shocking was his appearance. In the combination of pale moonlight and bright starlight, an almost unearthly glow surrounded his muscular frame and his body had certainly sustained damage, chunks of flesh and skin replaced with hard steel, a few chunky wires connecting seemingly random metal pieces that shone through the darkness.

But it was not his return or even his new augmentations to his already almost indestructible body that got their jaws dropping and forced them to question their sanity. Where one eye should have been was another chunk of metal, but most of that was covered with an eyepatch and his standard hat lined with crocodile teeth had been replaced with another iconic piece of headgear, sporting the skull and crossbones. One leg ended not in a booted foot but instead an intricately designed...well, pegleg. Sure it had wires connected to ports embedded in his flesh higher up and had randomly blinking lights on it, but it was still an old-fashioned pegleg.

And finally, just as their minds were barely finished processing his sudden presence and changed appearance, they noticed that the main bulk of his body, although not immediately noticeable in the pale light, was ever so slightly transparent. A single snowflake, separated from its brethren in the snow-less air, fluttered down and...passed straight through the Mann Co CEO, his transparency exaggerated for a moment as it went through to the other side and gently landed on the uneven ground behind him. Hale's body returned to its former opacity and a toothy grin materialised on his face as he flexed his muscles.

"Yarr, mates...surprised to see me, beep? Haha, you hippies could never kill an endangered bald eagle, let alone me, ye scurvy dogs! Just try and hit me, boop!"

The nightmare laughed, spreading his arms wide, encouraging the mercenaries to lay into him as he fearlessly stood there, mocking them and all the progress they had made. A horrible sense of fear had taken over their senses once more, one that chilled them to core and the shivering as they stood there was for once not due to the wintry cold.

"For I am SAXTON HALE, _Australian_! I literally don't know what defeat is! And now...I am SAXTON HALE...**AUSTRALIAN ****ROBOTIC PIRATE GHOST!**"

And with that announcement snow on the ground for miles around exploded upwards into the air as animals fled in fear, fleeing far, far into the night. The stars and moon vanished as snow swirled around, the features of the mountain around them vanishing until there was only an empty void containing them and the _eternal_ **Beast**.

Despite the overwhelming fear, the despair, the flat-out confusion...the team tensed and with a fire in their hearts deflecting the damp cold all around them, they unleashed everything they had at this inhuman monster. Bullets ripped through the air like a predator rends its prey's flesh, thunder boomed and rocked through the earth, great fires cast demonic dancing shadows across the ground, explosions thundered and threatened to shake the world apart and all the while, Hale stood, laughing.

Not laughing his usual booming laugh, full of life and his own twisted joy. It was a laugh that was deep and devoid of joy, a laugh that prickled their soul, that had strange taints of corruption laced through it, as inhuman and lifeless as the most evil undead ghoul. They could only watch, horrified, as nothing seemed to faze the beast. Bullets, tranquilliser darts, rockets and grenades simply passed through his form as if he wasn't there, impacting uselessly behind him. Explosions and fires at his feet simply warped his spectral image for a split instant before the flames were extinguished by his unnatural presence. Anything hitting the metal on his form pinged of uselessly with causing a scratch.

And always he taunted.

"Did you really think those little embers could match up to **my** fire?"

"Those custom-tooled bullets aren't doing any good for you now, big man?"

"My alarm clock creates a bigger boom than you do, Cyclops!"

"Call yourself a _man_, you wannabe soldier?"

"Where's your little toys boys? Did I already break them?"

"Real men fight, not heal!"

"A headshot is no good if there's nothing up there to hit, you pathetic Aussie outcast!"

"Tranq rounds? What do you think I am, you sneaking coward? Some baby wanting to sleep!"

"Not so cocky now, ya little insect, are you?"

"What happened to the **man** that knocked me down last time? Lost your goal already?"

Eventually the gunfire ceased and a very aggravated and fearful Team Fortress looked on with wide eyes, debating what to do next. For now Hale had yet to attack and they still held out on the hope that this was all some warped dream or a clever trick with holograms or something.

The Australian still stood there, looking somewhat disappointed that they'd yet to even tickle him, yet alone hurt him. And so his presence loomed over them, sucking all hope out of them as he laughed once more, the sound echoing all around them and assaulting their minds.

They were doomed, tormented and it looked like there would be no escape from this waking nightmare...

###

Surprisingly, it was Jack of all people who snapped first. Teeth clenched and face furrowed, he threw his rifle to one side, bringing up his crossbow to bear. With a swift, if tense, movement, an arrow was loaded, pulled back and he brought his aim up. Shaking as tears flowed down his eyes, memories of abuse and torment due to his small size and lack of Australian features back during his childhood threatened to overwhelm him, he fired the arrow.

Everyone watched, their own torment momentarily taking a back seat as if flew gracefully through the air and...lodged itself in Hale's pirate hate, the bolt dragging the absurd headwear off the Australian's ghostly head and dropping it into the snow. And in that instant the laughter stopped.

The undead King of Australia suddenly appeared in front of the Sniper without even the slightest bit of motion blur as warning. Glaring and growling, he poked a single finger into the smaller man's chest, sending him hurtling through the air onto the ground with a jolt.

"That. Was. My. **Hat**. You do not _touch_ my hat. You do not try and _craft_ my hat. My hat is not for _sale_ at the Mann Co Store. And most of all, you do not shoot my hat off my head."

There was a cold fury to Hale's voice quite unlike the burning temper they were used to. The man reached out with one of his massive hands and despite his ghostly form, dragged Jack to his feet, brining the two men eye to eye.

"Do you understand?"

Not waiting for a response, he pulled back his other fist and shot forward, just stopping at the Sniper's forehead. Blinking in surprise and quivering with fear, Jack simply hung there and watched as the Mann Co CEO sent a single finger forward out of his fist, flicking the Sniper's own hat, causing it to shoot off into the void, never to be seen again.

Dropping his fellow Australian back with his teammates, Hale suddenly materialised near where he'd been standing earlier, except now he was seated on a large boulder, hat back on his head and undamaged, wearily yawning as glanced at a watch that had materialised on his wrist.

###

Saxton was clearly playing games with them, toying with his prey before he went in for the kill. The swirl of snow reduced vision and made impossible...not as if they could have really ran away anyway. Still, even as invincible as their already ludicrously tough opponent seemed, they had to try. There had to be some way forward, as crazy as the solution may have been. Right now they were desperate for anything and crazy might just work. Thankfully they had their own bundle of crazy in the form of Jane Doe.

Their Soldier had stepped forwards, madness in his eyes, as he puffed his chest forward and addressed everyone, both teammates and enemy, in his usual yelling, no-nonsense fashion.

"Listen up you worthless maggots, and you too, you sickening Australian abomination! Ever since the dawn of time, pirates have always had one eternal enemy, a major foe who never ceases to score victory over the pirate scum time and time again! That's right, I speak of none other than the humble Ninja!"

A pause and a pained thoughtful expression fell on Jane's face, partially obscured by his helmet as he tried to recall some half-forgotten information.

"If a pirate proves resistant to rockets, then you must fight!...with Ninja! Sun Tzu said that, and I think he knows a bit more about killing undead pirates than we do, because he destroyed all of them! Then he got his dead animals from his boat, gathered his fight money and..."

It was at this point with Nils' face deeply in both palms, that Dell spoke up.

"Uh...Jane? That's great an' all, but I don't think that's quite how it went...an' even if it did, how's that help us?"

Soldier didn't answer, instead tossing his helmet to the ground with a slow and deliberate motion, the clang as it hit all too audible. Ignoring everyone else, he grabbed at his uniform and tore, placing the strips around his face, dramatically tying them together with a final pull as his mask was completed. Stepping forward with a stealth most unlike the loud American, the crunching of snow not even audible, Jane drew a katana from its sheath on his back, pulling it and himself into a ready stance as Hale looked on, amused.

Gabriel, being arguably the most well-travelled and amongst the best educated, was muttering angrily under his breath about the sheer amount of things wrong with this scene, ranging from nationality to misquoting The Art of War worse than usual and using the wrong weapon. Nils, just slowly patted the gibbering Spy on the back, noting that Ashley had vanished off somewhere whilst nobody was looking. Everyone else was intently staring at the scene unfolding before them as slowly the robotic pirate ghost brought himself to his feet, cutlass materialising in one hand.

Much less stealthy, he clunked his way over to meet Soldier, the two staring each other down as a faint wind blew snow from the ground between them. As if it was some unspoken cue, the pair vanished into a blur of movement, sword meeting sword in a clash of cool steel, the pirate blocking the ninja's two-handed swift and intricate blows with clumsy but strong single-handed motions. Soldier darted all over the place, jumping, rolling and slashing all the while, not once landing a solid blow on the Beast.

Eventually Hale seemed to tire of this game and struck Jane square in the gut in mid-jump, the American frozen in pain for a moment before launched back at his teammates with a sickening crunch as he landed and slid across the floor in a painful, but thankfully unconscious, heap.

###

Ewan was the next to step up to the fray, arguably with even worse logic than Jane had employed.

"Listen up ye no good beastie! I've hunted Nessie, it cost me my eye. I've hunted sprites and pixies and the fair folk with the ease most men breathe. I've seen unholy terrors like no other on this mortal earth and you're just another for the list!"

Straightening himself, the Demoman, clad in his gleaming armour, shield and sword at the ready, stood tall and locked his single eye with the Australian's own. Ready to charge, energy flowing through the burning blood in his veins, the Scotsman seemed to glow himself as he faced down the monstrous Beast.

"They say to fight fire with fire, I say it takes another pirate to fight a pirate!"

With this Ewan gestured at his eyepatch and the pirate hat of his own he'd placed atop his head.

"You may be some robotic pirate ghost an' an aussie to boot, but ye hav'n seen the likes of me yet! I'm the Black Scottish Cyclops, last of the Highlander Demomen! I am man, I am knight, I am pirate: I'm a grim bloody fable with an unhappy end!"

At this a spark seemed to illuminate the air, something that tasted so sweet and shone so bright, it could have almost been hope. Generation after generation of explosives and stubborn strength flowed through the Demoman's body as surely as the alcohol that strengthened his resolve further still. Almighty energy surging through his body, the glimmer of surprise in his enemy's eye and that was all it took.

A great and terrible cry of "FREEEEEEEEEDOOOOOOOOM!" echoed throughout the mountains past the white void Hale had generated and Ewan charged forward, a blur of fiery spirit and iron will, sword glowing and sparking with his intent as it cut through the frozen air towards the beast's neck...

And so it was that the beefy Australian sidestepped, holding one arm out for the charging Demolition-Knight-Pirate-Man to choke himself on before being flung back in a similar heap as Soldier, sliding across the ground and narrowly being impaled by his own sword as it flew through the air and implanted itself by his head.

###

Astonishingly, it was the Medic who next stood up and faced down Hale, fire in his eyes from the fall of his comrades. The Medigun was trained on the fallen before it was tossed aside into the snow, as was the backpack element. Slowly stepping backwards and rifling through the trailer, not once taking his eyes off the Australian, he unveiled a wildly different combination of gun and backpack.

Theme music seemed to come from nowhere as the rest of Team Fortress looked on in confusion with each step Nils made, strapping the Proton Pack on, aiming the particle thrower at the robotic pirate ghost as the particle accelerator on his back hummed into life. Feeling the strange compulsion to give at least one line of dialogue before he weakened this ghost and trapped it, the German spoken, ignoring Hale's growing frown.

"...I ain't afraid of no ghosts, dummkopf."

Determination blazing in his eyes, Nils readied and was about to fire, when Saxton met his eyes, expression deadly serious.

"...that film doesn't exist yet, doc. Do this and you'll cause a time paradox of such destruction that not even my fists could meet."

Realising his mistake and the potential disaster averted, he shut his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief before he too, was knocked unconscious by his foe, this time by an expertly kicked small rock to the forehead.

###

And so one by one, each member of Team Fortress tried to find some new and even more bizarre way to banish this abomination that continued to haunt them all through the night.

Jack, clearly not having learnt his lesson the first time, attempted to shoot off Hale's hat again and made extensive use of his Jarate stockpile before he was buried into a deep crater. The Sniper's hat chose this time to return from its snowy adventure, floating back out of the void and landing carefully on the fallen Australian's face.

Kevin challenged Saxton to a little game of who could hit the ball further with a bat. Surprisingly, the Beast agreed to let them go if the Scout won. No doubt the boy's batting was impressive, but the challenge was doomed from the start. Even ignoring the fact that Hale had used an entire tree as his "bat" and the boulder he'd been sitting on as his "ball", the snowy and foggy void made it impossible to see where the balls had gone and soon enough the Boston batter was sleeping a good distance away, an irritated flick from Saxton shutting the boy up.

Grigori entered a chess-boxing match against the robotic pirate ghost, who looked excited about the boxing element and less so about the chess section. The Russian proved to be highly adept at chess and could have clearly given the Engineers quite the challenge, assuming he didn't just steamroll them. Unfortunately, his bulky Australian foe swiftly overpowered the Heavy in the more physical sections, preventing the game from being continued. No doubt Grigori wanted to get up, but even for a man of his size, dislodging the avalanche he'd been buried in would have been tricky.

Gabriel, strangely quiet and polite, suggested that the remaining gentlemen, consisting of himself, Hale, Isaac and Dell, enjoy the night together with several card games, a little gambling and some drinks. Sure enough, the atmosphere relaxed and a strange warmth grew between the men as they slowly got more drunk, the gambling going from mere weapons and scrap metal up to hats, supply crate keys and refined metal caches. The Spy grew ever frustrated as, despite his own cheating, the Australian continued to beat him at every turn with nothing more than luck. The game came to an end when a drunken but good natured pat on the back from Saxton ended up smashing the Frenchman's skull through the table, leaving only a bloody, splintered mess behind.

###

"Well that was fun but it looks like everyone else has gone to bed, the bunch of wusses. Looks like its just you and me."

Hale was entirely too cheerful with that remark as he towered over the two Engineers, both all too aware of how small they were. Isaac at least had the presence of mind to wonder where the Pyro had gone as Dell considered his options. With a mere look passing between them conveying all they though, the twin Engineers nodded before turning back to the menace that had annihilated their team, robbed them of their hope, warped the world around them into a void and had weakened their wits with fear and his presence alone.

They drew their weapons determined to go down fighting. Their choice brought a smile to the Australian's features and for a moment the sense of dread and fear lifted, replaced instead with burning flame of courage and hope. He cracked his knuckles and his neck, performing a few stretches as the two mercenaries checked their weapons, made their peace with the world and readied themselves for what would likely be the end of them.

His shotgun, Vengeance, was crackling with power, ready to fight one last battle. His armour and robotic arm was ready, overdrive fully charged. The LFD bathed him in a crimson aura as Dell made his last checks by his side. Hearts beating as one, the Crimson Demon and his counterpart together faced death, looked the reaper in the eye and marched to their fate, trigger fingers itching.

It was only due to the sound of running and a wordless cry that halted them.

"MMMMMPPPPHH!"

Was that...the Pyro?

Sure enough, a figure appeared in the haze and the form of Ashley made itself apparent, interrupting the showdown before it could begin, carrying something overhead. Skidding to a half in front of the two Texans, the Pyro huffed and puffed for a moment, suit covered in gashes and tears, blood seeping down and mixing with the pure white snow that had settled on Ashley's body. Isaac and Dell moved to stand by their teammate but were held back with a single arm.

The firebug turned to face them, fire the only thing visible in the lenses of their gas mask.

"Nuh uh, stay buhk. Uh gohh mphiss."

Startled, they stepped back, eyes finally drawn to what the Pyro had been holding and had now placed by their side. It could have been their weary eyes playing on them but...was that a vacuum cleaner!

Determination sunk into Ashley, the monster they'd faced down before had come back, had destroyed the team once more and now it was up to them to end this creature once and for all. A terrible roaring battle cry escaped their throat, something not even the suit and mask could muffle. The Pyro ran forwards, vacuum nozzle at the ready as Hale's eye grew wide with realisation and tried to flee, slipping over in the snow and holding up his hands before his face, terror dancing all over his features.

The cleaner whirred into life, sucking in air and snow and dust and dirt alike, until finally its vicious suction was brought down in harsh justice against the Australian Robotic Pirate Ghost. Moaning in pain and terror, form distorted and becoming ever more distorted by the moment, the vacuum sucked at Hale, the machine shaking and juddering, the nozzle jumping about in Ashley's hands.

But the Pyro held true and continued their advance until finally with a shriek that seemed to pierce reality itself, the nightmarish Beast was sucked in, ectoplasm, eyepatch, hat, metal and all. In that instant the hazy void lifted and the clear night sky became visible once more, the snow settling to the ground, undisturbed. The cleaner rattled and spluttered and choked on the contents it had just devoured, whining and starting to smoke as the suction cut off.

Eyes wide underneath the mask, the pyromaniac ran to the edge and flung the cleaner off the edge, strong arms grasping them and dragging them back just as the machine exploded into a cloud of dark smoke and slime and dust, taking out a large chunk of the mountain with it. Ashley just looked in fear at where they'd been standing moments before, the land vaporised.

###

Looking back at the smiling, _crying_ men who'd pulled her back, the snuggled together for _warmth_ and **cried** themselves to sleep.

For Ashley, Dell and Isaac, the white _void_ had been replaced with cold night and now that night was replaced with pure **darkness** once more.

The **nightmare** was over.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's notes: <strong>No I've not gone insane, I went insane a long time ago. If you can't figure this chapter out, don't worry, all will be explained by next update. 'course, I'm assuming that most of you now realise why this is a _special_ chapter, right?


	27. Mirrored Madness

**Author's notes: **Phew! This took way, way longer than I'd thought, and here I was trying to get this done as soon as possible so I could clear up last chapter...

The basic concept for chapter 26 (Saxton Hale returning as a robotic pirate ghost) was a joke idea that came up when discussing where'd I take this story in the future. Needless to say, the idea was amusing enough that I decided to keep it and use it to form a joke chapter that'd leave heads being scratched and allow for the real chapter to follow a day or two later. That was the original plan, but I instead decided to mix things up, making the joke chapter, despite the clear insanity, feel much like a real chapter. And, as you'll see here, the real chapter flows straight from the joke chapter...it may be a cliche explanation, but it works.

To everyone saying it had something to do with Meet the Pyro, I apologise. The chapter was uploaded after the video was released and had actually been written a good bit beforehand. With Pyro's insanity having saved the day and the time it was released, this was understandable. But fear not, there will be a little reference to the latest "Meet the Team" video coming up...

As for this chapter...don't want to say too much about it, but this is the new longest chapter by quite some margin, weighing in at over 8,000 words (the average still being a bit over 3000 last I checked) and it took forever to do, even with me cutting material out to use for the next chapter. Here's hoping you enjoy it, thanks to everyone who has read so far!

_Edit_: This is what I get for spending several hours on the chapter and not getting someone to proof read before publishing it. Most errors have now been fixed, special thanks to GothicCheshire for sending me a corrected file.

_Edit2_: Looks like when I tried to replace the chapter with the corrected version that it didn't actually update, how troublesome. Likewise for some older chapters. Thanks to everyone who caught the errors anyway.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter 27: Mirrored Madness<strong>_

Isaac found himself roughly shaken awake, his vision slowly blurring together, his hazy mind trying to piece the shapes before him into something recognisable. Blinking, a glance around, a deep breath, a quick rub of the eyes and a confused expression.

It was cold, so cold...and on the horizon he could see the welcome sight of the sun rising. All around him the team were rising too, his comrades looking at him with some degree of concern. His mind whirred, logic quickly fighting memories and confusion, his face slipping into a neutral mask. The pieces clicked together and he hastily substituted his shock at them being alive with confusion at something that'd be less embarrassing to explain.

"...why didn't you wake me up when it was my turn to take watch?"

Dell scratched the back of his head before placing his own helmet atop his head and answering his twin with a nervous grin.

"Well, truth be told Tex, you were tossing and turning a lot in your sleep and we tried to wake you when it looked like you were sufferin', but you settled down an' well...seeing as you clearly hadn't had the best of sleep, none of us had the heart to wake you up once you'd gotten all peaceful."

Isaac merely nodded, sleepily mumbling his thanks and trying to wipe the vivid memories of last night's dream. Strange how dreams were like that: despite the absurdity he had seen (Robotic pirate ghosts? Really!) he had accepted it all and not once realised that the insanity had been a strange and horrific nightmare. Granted, he'd seen enough madness in his waking life that having that beast come back to haunt him wouldn't really be that crazy, but all the same...

The former RED quickly lost himself in his thoughts, not noticing himself shaking in the cold or the approaching footsteps crunching through the light snow and rock. It wasn't until a gloved hand placed a blanket on his shoulders that he snapped out of it, turning to face the masked form of the Pyro.

"Mmph ohay?"

"...yeah. Thanks Ashley, don' worry 'bout it."

Despite the handicap of having the mask hide any facial expressions the fire-lover may have made, Ashley somehow found a way to look doubtful before flashing a brief thumbs up and heading off to the others, everybody ready to move out. Quickly pulling himself together, Isaac loaded the LFD back onto his back, double-checked his weapons and put the past behind him.

They had work to do.

###

The rest of the descent was hardly a walk in the park, but compared to previous slopes, snowstorms, attacks, sudden drops and general brushes with death...

Well, it was certainly a lot nicer. The path down was fairly gentle in its downwards slope and whilst it was somewhat bumpy on occasion, there were no incidents with the makeshift trailer. Light conversation between the mercenaries started to pick up as they tried to plan the next move and pondered on what challenge awaited them next. You couldn't stay as a mercenary for long and realistically stay optimistic, certainly not after all these men had gone through. It wasn't a case of whether there'd be something to encounter today, but rather what.

They had run rampant in their rebellion against the Administrator, ransacked her bases for equipment, taken down the Mann Co CEO himself, annihilated her little robotic minions and continued to escape her grasp...all the while, leaving nothing but bloodshed and destruction in their wake. Sometimes they might wonder which one was truly the monster, but it was too late to turn back now. Besides...no amount of self-doubt could stop them now, for all the death they had dealt, they had their mission, and their enemy had her sights on the world.

And unlike most maniacs dreaming of world domination, the Announcer to their little war had the position and resources to achieve world conquest without the world ever knowing, should she choose to be silent. Should that be impossible, her control reached far enough to take it by force if necessary. Maybe it truly was a case of which was the lesser of two evils, the ten men who had killed for profit and now killed for survival, or the puppet-master pulling the strings.

For as certain as it was that the Sun would rise again tomorrow...

There would be this conflict, this clash of wills, of puppets and their former master intertwined in chaos and death.

###

As the day progressed, the sun rising higher as the mercenaries sunk lower, the chill left their lungs. It left their skin, their bones, their weary but alert faces. Snow had given way to rocks and dirt. Rocks and dirt were soon joined by green plant life and deep blue streams. With each step they focused a little more, with each step they got a little closer to the next hurdle, with each step they got closer to Hell.

With one final drop, pained grunts all around, with one final group effort to safely lower the trailer, with one final look back at the mighty structure they had come down from, they were off the mountain and back on track. With so many dead from attempting to hunt the team after the defeat of Hale, with any luck the numbers would be spread too thin, hopefully allowing them to secure a base as their own without too much trouble.

But of course, that would be too easy.

Standing at attention, weapons at the ready, were nine familiar silhouettes, the still-rising sun at their backs. No words were exchanged between the two groups, the shadows standing still as the ten mercenaries cautiously approached the nine, drawing their own weapons. The tension in the air was thick enough to drown in, beads of sweat clearly visible as muscles tightened, eyes focusing on the mirror images facing them.

Dressed in uniforms that were identical to the old BLU uniforms in everything but colour, those nine identical men stood there, clad not in red or blue but in a dark grey, wielding the original stock weapons...or so it appeared. However, these reminders of the similarities between the RED and BLU mercenaries and how they'd somehow never made the connection were not alone.

He was clad in a black formal business suit, resting some of his weight forwards on his umbrella, point embedded into the earth, a smart but simple hat resting upon his greying hair. His face was wrinkled ever so slightly and scars still clearly visible made his presence in battle all too clear. For all his apparent age, the mystery man somehow radiated great strength even as he wearily rested on his umbrella, eyes wistfully looking into the distance, one covered by a monocle and both lost in thought.

Lost in thought until those eyes then focused in on the ten mercenaries who had come to a halt a short distance away. In an instant those eyes suddenly become full of something else, something that could not be described as a raging fire, but rather as a controlled fiery presence contained within sturdy ice, a strange wisdom gleaming in those eyes. The man lifted himself up, pulling the umbrella out of the ground, spinning it and placing it onto the ground to his side in a single swift motion, his right hand still gripping it firmly even as the dirt released into the air from the action settled back down to the ground once more.

"Ah, I see you have arrived. I do apologise that I couldn't meet you earlier but circumstances have prevented our meeting. I decided that now would be the most opportune moment in time, I do trust that you've all rested well before you returned down here to Terra Firma?"

The man spoke with a well-cultured accent and a firm but soft tone, politeness embedded into every syllable he vocalised. Each word held within it a sense of friendliness, one of a more reserved and tempered sort. His accent, for any other mystery surrounding him, was fairly easy to guess, it was a very strong and stereotypical English accent...or perhaps someone trying too hard to imitate the generic classy form.

"I am most sorry to have to ask this of you when you've had so much trouble in your lives as of late, but unfortunately I am bound by contract and must do as the master requests. I'm afraid that I must insist that you engage myself and these nine familiar foes or else risk the troublesome risk of a most gruesome and unpleasant death."

At this the suited man gave a small but sad smile before gesturing to the other men, all of them silent and strangely unmoving.

"For the purposes of testing the next phase in TF Industries' mercenary program, it would be preferable if each of you were to do battle with your nigh-identical counterpart. I must say that I'm most curious to see how the former BLUs handle the latest batch of mirror mercenaries my master has produced."

It was at this point, as the others glared with a mixture of emotions at their counterparts (some with anger more than others, Jane looked about ready to pounce on the Grey Soldier, whilst Nils seemed more curious and amused by the opposing Medic than anything else) that Isaac spoke.

"Now, I hate to interrupt ya an' all as you've been real polite about this so far, but where exactly does this leave me? I ain't a former BLU and I don't see a second Engineer on your little team of mutes there. Only other guy I see here is you and forgive me for sayin' this, but I ain't too keen on beating the tar outta an old man if I can help it."

Quiet chuckling was the Engineer's only response for a moment before the formally-dressed man straightened up a little further, raising his head a little. Despite the sun being ahead and behind him, his monocle seemed to glow and his eye became obscured behind it as if a great amount of glare had reflected off the lens.

"I am so glad you asked that, my good Mr. Howard. Whilst I may not appear to be up to a bout with those such as yourself who still hold the fire of youth, I dare say that in my own humble opinion that this old veteran may still not be totally helpless before you."

A pause, the Grey mercenaries slowly easing out of their unmoving stances, faces starting to gain some measured semblance of emotion as they stared deeply into the faces of their foes, the members of Team Fortress. This motion was noted and everyone immediately became even more high-strung, trigger fingers itching and ready.

"For you see...many moons ago I was but another mere Civilian, escorted by mercenaries not dissimilar to yourselves, terrified and helpless with nothing but these hired guns and my umbrella to defend me. One day I quite frankly got sick of this fear, of being an asset to be fought over. I rebuilt myself in the flames of war and fortified my frozen resolve. I may have once been a Civilian...but you may refer to me simply as _The Gentleman_. Or, should I say..._The Tenth Class_?"

Raising his umbrella with one hand into a fencing position, his other hand rose into the air and clicked once, unleashing the barely restrained simmering urge to battle between the mercenaries and their mirrors. With everyone else scattered to their own personal battles, this left only Isaac and The Gentleman.

"En guarde, _Sir_ Isaac Howard: from one _Angel_ of **Death** to another, let us **demons** dance once more!"

###

Kevin couldn't explain it any better than he could explain the sudden realisation that Isaac and Dell where near enough identical. He just knew this faker was just like himself and the departed RED Scout and that they had to fight. Why had he split off from his team? He didn't know, but he fought alone anyway, some part of him finally giving him an answer, even as he ran and jumped and ducked and rolled:

This was _personal_. This copy was here, wearing his face, using his old guns, using his tactics and unlike the RED Scout, didn't even seem to have his own spine or personality. His taunting seemed to be falling on deaf ears and that just angered him even more.

And so the two Scouts sprinted and weaved and fired at the other inhuman blur, the two of them forming a frenzied spiral, a dance of death, bullets and buckshot flying wildly into the air. Both boys were fragile and their primary weapons excelled at close range. As much as they tried to wear each other down with bullets from the Grey's pistol and the nails from Kevin's nailgun, it ultimately came down to who could get a good, point-blank meatshot with their weapon of choice.

The bullets had too little punch to them to do much, especially when Kevin had the sense of mind to use what bits of his uniform had become lightly armoured to deflect them, and the nails, whilst more damaging and forming a deadlier swarm of projectiles, were easy for the Grey Scout to dodge the vast majority of. It was a case of reflexes and luck more than anything: Kevin's modified Force-A-Nature shot more pellets, had more overall punch, fired faster, reloaded faster and had incredible knockback, but the Grey's Scattergun was more reliable, offering a larger clip size, more force per pellet, less spread ruining shots from medium range and less knockback interfering with aiming.

Ultimately though, there could have been no doubt as to which had more experience in such battles of speed VS speed, of who had more drive to win, of who had the tools and insanity to do it. In such a battle between fast targets, it was about who could manoeuvre themselves into the better position. Both being evenly matched in speed, both capable of double-jumping and both with good reflexes, the terrain would seem to settle it. But here the land was mostly flat with only the occasional foothold if one were to head towards the mountains, the rare boulder or raised lump of earth...

But to Kevin, that didn't matter, he knew how this would end. The twin Scouts, having broken apart to try circle strafing the other whilst spamming shots jumped and flipped back into a ready position facing the other, quickly switching to their primary weapon before looking the other in the eye and charging. Both sawn-off-shotguns fired again and again in a spread of buckshot that slowly became closer packed and more damaging as they got closer and closer, ducking, weaving, jumping and side stepping. Finally, the mirrored runners closed the gap and at once, both leapt into the air, the distance rapidly closing as both flew through the air, bleeding and battered from their battle.

However, there was one difference in their actions at that last moment in mid-air. The Grey aimed his weapon at his counterpart, but Kevin aimed his weapon down. Both mercenaries fired, the former BLU propelled even higher into the air, by the insane knockback of his primary whilst the Scattergun's pellets missed harmlessly below. The mercenary's mirror finally broke its mostly neutral expression with a look of sheer disbelief as Kevin dodged the blast, flew above the nameless young man and with an instinctive ease born of years on the battlefield, filled the Scout's back with buckshot, forcing him to the ground even as a stream of rapid fire nails held him there.

Forever.

###

Jane didn't need or want an explanation, he just knew that himself and this copycat scum were going to fight to death and by Uncle Sam was he going to beat this wannabe Soldier senseless! His opponent was fairly grim-faced beneath the helmet, whilst Jane was instead feeling an odd sense of savage joy. Something about fighting another Soldier again, of waging rocket to rocket, of shotgun to shotgun, of fighting with another man...

Exploding pursuing vehicles was one thing, shooting down helicopters was another and fighting through countless inferior troops was yet another. But even that robotic onslaught wasn't the same as this, of fighting another person like him. In a rare burst of insight and clarity, Jane realised just how much he missed the RED team, his own even crazier counterpart in particular, but perhaps a certain Demoman so much more...

And well, this Grey son of a bitch was neither, didn't say a word, didn't laugh or scream commands, barking as he strode through the chaos, following Jane as they took their battle far away, but...it was still something. This Soldier growled at him and was certainly good enough with both aim and withstanding pain. Only Jane's long-time experience saved him from being exploded into small chunks time and time again and his opponent was strangely tough, rockets exploding at his feet and buckshot emptied into his chest not even fazing the helmet-wearing copy.

Jane grinned. He was starting to like this guy, a shame he'd have to die so soon.

Their launchers were empty and the twin Americans raised their heads, helmets no longer covering their eyes. Looking awkwardly at each other with piercingly insane eyes, they slowly lowered their heads and nodded. The Grey had the same twisted sense of honour and the two men dropped their weapons to the ground. No sense wasting ammo with near-misses, rockets were expensive. And so they drew their shotguns, one stock and one double-barrelled. Shot after shot as the two ran at one another, the shots digging into the skin but neither showed their pain to the other.

Pain was just weakness leaving the body, after all. Getting closer and closer they eventually threw the shotguns down too and both leapt forwards, rolling into a wrestling, punching, kicking and screaming mess of madness. Blow after blow rocked their bodies, blow after blow drew blood, blow after blow inflicted further head trauma, their helmets lost early on in the rolling mess. It took a grenade from the battle between the now relatively nearby Demomen landing dangerously close to separate the Soldiers, both men thrown, battered, bruised, bleeding and no doubt with broken bones, back towards their launchers.

Staggering up to their feet, each loaded a single rocket, insanity and fire gleaming in their eyes as they checked that their melee weapon was still present on their person. Attempting to run forward, each slumped and stopped at least once before continuing until some unspoken cue passed and both jumped upwards, a single explosive exiting their respective tubes, billowing smoke. Time seemed to slow as the two rockets detonated and the Rocket Jump sent the men flying into the air, somehow staying upright despite their injuries, despite the madness of what they were doing, despite the trail of blood behind them as they flew through the sky.

The Grey drew his shovel, screaming without words or reason. The former BLU drew his katana, a furious war cry that might have once had words embedded, but had been lost in the journey from brain to mouth. Both arced through the air, weapons at the ready, both tired, both knowing that when they met and fell, at least one of them would die and perhaps neither of them would still be standing. Mirrored Americans met and blade met shovel, both men with their teeth bared, eyes shining with bloodlust, savage roars booming all round with this final clash.

Shovel struck sword...and sword won.

It sliced through the handle, the head falling off uselessly and with their momentum, the movement continued. Jane held the katana firmly in both hands as he continued his overhead slice, seeing all the little details as his blade painfully cut through the broken Grey's body, watching as the skull was split, as the brain was squished and the eyes popped. The Soldier watched as bone and brain and flesh and blood and guts were all revealed in a gory, flying mess.

Jane landed, immediately falling to one knee, blade still in hand as he crouched down, a moment later hearing the sound of two halves thumping into the earth behind him, followed by the splattering of blood on the ground. It was only then that he dropped the weapon and collapsed.

###

Ashley was so happy to find another Pyro, even if this one wasn't quite as "rainbow and lollipops" as the RED Pyro had been. Still, as sure as they were that this Grey one would be good fun to be with, this Pyro would threaten the team if Ashley didn't take care of it.

Wait...take care of it? Oh of course, yes, the rainbows would make this Grey one talk. Quietness from a Pyro was hardly a surprise, but sheer silence would not do. Oh no, Ashley just had to introduce this poor thing to all the happiness and green fields and...

The former BLU shook their head, dispelling the madness for a moment. No...had to stay in reality, had to stop lapsing...they'd been doing so well, they hadn't fallen back like that since joining Team Fortress and even at BLU, unlike their RED counterpart, reality was fixed in place most of the time. Perhaps it was the shock of seeing another Pyro and being forced to fight it that had forced the visions and ecstatic happiness to return?

Whatever the reason, Ashley promised themselves that they wouldn't fall to "Pyroland" again. The RED Pyro had fallen in so deep as to never recover before they'd been killed and the fire-lover didn't want to be a repeat of that. They hadn't told the team about the madness, of the sheer joy and happiness Pyroland brought, of how hard they'd fought to keep in touch with the harsh, bloody reality rather than the sugar-coated dream.

And they didn't need to know.

No doubt this Pyro, poor soul, was trapped in Pyroland themselves, or perhaps something worse. Whatever their state of mind, no matter how pitiful this flamethrower-wielding lunatic was, their life had to be ended, one incurable Pyromaniac, one charred terror, one mysterious monster...it was more than enough for this world.

Fire met fire, the suits preventing afterburn and Ashley's being especially resistant to fire. It didn't take long for the Grey Pyro to realise that simply spewing flames at one another whilst running forward wasn't going to work and the mirror mercenary started making full use of the airblast and shotgun, trying to position the former BLU into a corner. But Ashley was far more skilled with the use of compression blast control, combining this with the fireball and fire stream extras of the modified flamethrower, as well as a few well aimed shots from their own shotgun made it all too easy.

Indeed, it didn't take long before the Team Fortress member saw the enemy pyromaniac slump, breathing deep and pained. If one knew what it sounded like and got close enough, you could almost make out the muffled crying of the unknown within that asbestos suit. Ashely placed one hand on the shoulder of the fallen fire-lover, causing the poor creature to look up, staring through those gas mask lens with wide eyes at the shotgun levelled against its head with one hand. Both closed their eyes and the trigger was pulled.

Bang!

...funny how things in life worked out. The accidental drop of a small match could become a terrible fire that could consume all: a little thing could become something big. And then there was stuff like this, where another life much like their own suddenly hung in the balance and all it took was a pull of trigger: something as huge as another life becoming something as small as a twitch of the finger.

Maybe the suit wasn't too damaged and Ashley wasn't too injured after that short battle, but the hurt remained all the same. Sometimes the biggest pains were those nobody saw...

###

Ewan wasn't the sort to back down from a fight. He'd done it in just about every pub in Scotland, he leapt at the chance for this mercenary job and he'd given it his all in the Soldier VS Demoman War, even though the whole event was clearly aimed at breaking the friendship between the RED Demoman and their own BLU Soldier. So here was some other mirror image of his likeness, yet another Black Scottish Cyclops who just so happened to be a demolitions expert and had lost an eye?

Well, if that didn't get the Scot rearing for a fight, nothing would. He'd gotten a lot of flak for being the kind of man he was (admittedly, some of it, such as his frequent drunken "explosives testing" was deserved) and now he found the second man wearing his likeness! The RED Demoman was one thing, he'd not realised their similarities fully back then and the poor dead sod was one hell of a worthy opponent! But this silent Grey bastard...

It quickly became apparent to Ewan that this was going to be no mere mirror match. This Grey git used the stock grenade and sticky launchers, which was quite different to his current loadout. Sure he'd used his Demoman gear far more than his Demoknight gear, especially in taking down Isaac's buildings back when RED and BLU were still fighting but still...should be interesting. The fight almost ended very early on when Ewan charged forward with his shield and sword. His counterpart almost looked panicked for a moment and started to empty his grenade launcher wildly before realising that jumping out of the way of the strike would be wiser. As such, rather than having his head cleaved from his shoulders or his body bisected, instead the Grey mercenary escaped with only a cut and some bruising from jumping to the ground.

Sure enough, the enemy Demoman had made a hasty retreat and was learning to keep his distance and ensure that he had stickybombs between them at all times. The Grey mostly seemed to be relying on a mixture of precision shots and sheer spam with his grenade launcher and Ewan had to admit that his opponent had landed more good hits on him than he had. Still, Ewan had his shield, armour, spirit and experience.

The stickybomb trap prevented him from charging in a straight line to his foe, but what his enemy hadn't considered was the possibility of other routes, or that Ewan would use his own manually detonated pipebombs to clear the trap and go in for the kill. It was a combination of the latter and leading the predictable Grey mercenary to where'd he shot a pipebomb earlier that allowed the former BLU his chance.

The remote-detonated pipebombs scattered the trap, and the one the Demoman had stumbled close to hurt and disorientated him just long enough for Ewan to make his charge. With a cry of "There can be ONLY ONE!" it was all over, the enemy's head sailing through the air as blood rushed upwards in a spout from the neck, the body collapsing to the ground.

The surviving Demoman winced, having taken more damage from his opponent's explosives than he'd liked. Still...the fight was over; he'd done his duty both to his team and to respect the fallen RED. The imposter was gone, and where there was two there was now...

Only one.

###

Grigori was angry. He had looked after his team, both BLU team and Team Fortress, he had looked after his Medic and he had looked over his gun...his love...his darling Sasha. But now this man had come, so roughly treating that cheap imitation of Sasha! She may have been but a mere copy and a fake, but even fakes had to be treated with some degree of respect. No...this Grey Heavy's weapon had not been polished recently, the barrel was worn and yet it didn't appear to have seen battle.

A gun bearing the stains and damage of war...that he could respect. Was best to look after her and fix her up, but imperfection attained through battle was acceptable. This however...was crime. And his opponent, this big baby who thought he could stand a chance in battle against him? It was laughable, this man showed nothing, did not show fires of anger, did not show pain of regret, did not even show reluctance when separated from the rest of his team and especially his Medic.

Grigori had cast a single glance to Nils when they'd gone their separate ways to engage these copies in battle that had spoken volumes, most likely more than this Grey Heavy had said in his entire life. The RED Heavy had been a good man. Perhaps a little unfaithful, switching from minigun to minigun, but he clearly loved them all and treated them and his doctor just as well as Grigori did himself.

To the former BLU it seemed as if his foe's fate had already been sealed. This fellow Russian knockoff showed no respect, no concern, no care, no spirit, no passion...such a man was truly more animal than man and would not survive. Indeed, as the two giants paced around each other, revving up their miniguns, there seemed to be little intelligence or free will in the action. And so the expensive, custom-tooled cartridges were ejected at incredible speed, high-calibre bullets scattered throughout the air and lodging themselves in human flesh.

This battle was not one of outwitting the opponent, of using the full arsenal they had available to take the other down or even a battle of outmanoeuvring the foe. It was down to a case of endurance, pure and simple. Two warriors more comparable to tanks than men would unleash their weapon's full might and they would continue to fire, continue to hold the powerful weapon still, even as the recoil would shatter any other man's arms, even as the bullets would tear apart any other man's body, even as the pain would destroy any other man's mind.

With each mere second that passed, another forty bullets would be screaming through the air, seeking to rip through the outer layers of their skin, to lodge themselves in the torso, to dent the miniguns. With each bullet, with each rotation of the barrel, with each pounding beat of the transplanted heart in his chest, Grigori's muscles tensed more and more. He felt the pain and ignored it as he had done on the battlefield so many times before. He felt the blood seep out of him, felt it pool around his feet into a red, sticky mess.

He had felt this all before and yet it was so different. Before he had always had respawn prevent the fear of death and even when respawn was gone, his Medic had always been nearby. But now Nils was on his own, as was everyone else in the team. They could not help him any more than he could, despite the overwhelming urge for the Russian to lend a hand to his comrades.

...Grigori felt dizzy and was finding it harder to harder to keep his hold on Sasha true as she finished chewing through the normal ammo capacity of the weapon and started to feast on the backup ammo belts the Heavy wore. Vaguely remembering that this feature was one that had been added on after much debate, it took a moment for his weary mind to process the clicking of an empty minigun and the sound of a man falling to his knees before crying out in pain as bullets punched through his face and skull.

Sasha became quiet, the barrels slowly coming to a halt. She was slowly, gently and lovingly lowered to the ground for a moment as Grigori took one good look at the mutilated corpse that had once been in his own likeness before falling to ground himself. Unable to hold it in any more, he let out his reflexive cry:

"DOKTOR!"

###

Dell found himself somewhat amused by his battle with the Grey Engineer. His counterpart had shown surprising skill, pain tolerance and reflexes, something that had taken years for himself to build up, but was otherwise very much a rookie. Whilst finding good nest locations in this kind of terrain was certainly difficult, it was hardly impossible to find a place where the sentry could be shielded from most ranged attacks and still be able to fire on oncoming targets. The sentry nest of his opponent was certainly set up well and was far away from the others in an area with more cover and hills, but was hardly optimal.

Moreover, the Engineer acted much like Dell himself had done early on, and much like Isaac had been too: overly defensive and unwilling to leave the nest. Of course, Dell had been forced out of the role when BLU was pushing the offensive and the addition of the mini-sentry certainly helped. As for Isaac, the former RED had learnt to start patrolling areas nearby and if he knew his buildings weren't at immediate risk, he'd wandered out and assisted his teammates.

Of course, that was back then and this was now. Dell considered just setting up his own level three sentry, taking control of it with the wrangler and destroying the nest from afar, but that felt a bit too cheap and he wanted to observe this Grey mercenary a little more. The Texan double didn't use his weapons often but when he did, the former BLU felt something..._off_...about them. As he continued to harass his foe, slowly chipping away at a dispenser with his pistol and receiving an accurate burst of return pistol fire for his efforts, it clicked.

Darting out into view of the sentry once more and dropping a mini-sentry down before leaping back for cover, he confirmed it. The Grey's weapons may have looked stock, but they weren't. They basically functioned the same, but there were small bonuses, little tweaks and improvements which by themselves weren't much, but together formed a much more dangerous weapon. The pistol had emptied its clip faster and had much less spread and a good bit more bite to its shots. The shotgun was louder, shot a few more pellets, hit harder and seemed to take ever so slightly less time to reload. And that sentry...

He knew his sentries, he knew exactly how fast they were to react to a threat and how damaging they could be, and how to fool them. That level three up there had locked onto and destroyed the mini-sentry faster than it should have. That being said, however, Dell was still confident he could win.

The thing about hiding behind sentry nests was that you didn't expect an attack from behind and weren't prepared for when you were taking damage yourself. The Grey had chosen a decent location alright, but Dell knew the limitations of the sentry and the rookie had made a fatal mistake: he'd sandwiched himself between his sentry and the dispenser. It was a simple case to peek out just enough to aim without being shot at himself and pester the enemy Engineer with bullets. The foe would duck or otherwise try to avoid the shots and hide by the dispenser, allowing his wounds to heal. It was just a matter of darting from cover to cover, dropping down mini-sentries for the sentry to fire at instead of himself.

Sure enough, eventually he was in position and was able to get behind the nest. The Grey had not seen where Dell had vanished off to now and so long as the former BLU kept low, the dispenser would block the sentry's line of sight to him. Frontier Justice in hand, he squatted down by the back of the nest and breathed deeply, preparing himself. His counterpart heard and readied his own shotgun, when Dell suddenly popped up from behind the dispenser. This shocked the other Engineer, but before he could give a shot, Dell dropped behind another mini-sentry (his armour's massive metal supply sure was useful!) and dove for cover once more.

This time however, when the sentry swivelled around to face the target and fire, it was the Grey Engineer who received the punishment, the man standing in the way of the powerful, precision-aimed gatling turrets and mounted rocket launchers. Needless to say, the grey buildings took some serious damage and quickly became stained in red. The mini-sentry tore the dispenser apart, making itself visible to its larger cousin. The two exchanged bullets whilst Dell came charging in over the rock he'd leapt behind.

No sooner had the mini-sentry been destroyed, he activated his overdrive and blasted the sentry, not yet locked onto him, to pieces, ignoring what few bullets had been fired off in his direction before the level three sentry was destroyed. He skidded to a stop, not willing to admit just how many near-misses there had been earlier and trying not to inhale the fumes from the wreckage as the Frontier Justice's glowing finally stopped.

"A real Texan woulda dodged that..."

###

Nils was very curious about this whole affair and was more than just a little fascinated. Here there was definite proof and perhaps clues as to this whole mess: why were the mercenaries from the RED and BLU teams (and this grey-clad bunch) near enough identical and why had it taken so long for this to become obvious?

And here he had a copy of himself, as best he could tell. The more sadistic part of him longed to cut this man up, to enjoy a proper "examination" like the old days all whilst another part of him longed to take this copy as a test subject, to be able to examine what was effectively his own body like he'd never been able to do. But alas...this mute Medic merely stood with syringe gun in hand and Nils knew full well that his team would be needing him to keep them alive after these little mirror battles. It was vital that he deal with this replica as swiftly as possible.

The German may have been fighting alone and without the utility of his Übercharge, but this doctor did indeed know how to fight. He would not lose to this Grey Medic and he would not tarry a moment longer! Bringing his Blutsauger up, he began unleashing his torrent of health-draining (and recently poisoned) needles, strafing from side to side as he dodged his foe's own stream.

...it was almost too easy. Whilst little in the way of emotion had ever shown itself on his enemy's face, the frantic panic was still all too clear in his movements and poor aim. It had taken Nils a long time to become competent at fending for himself and the knowledge of how essential he was to his team's survival when with BLU had taught him to dodge and use cover very quickly. Whilst this Grey counterpart certainly was better than he'd been during the early days, he clearly didn't know what he was doing and he had difficulty in utilising the syringe gun. The weapon required good aim, tracking and prediction skills to use effectively.

In all honesty, the mirror mercenary had never stood a chance.

Dusting off his labcoat and pulling out any stray syringes that had embedded themselves into him, the Medic turned his back on the still intact corpse without looking back. He had more important things to deal with, for instance, the cry for him that could have only come from a certain Russian...

###

Jack was no stranger to Sniper battles, it had been quite common for himself and his RED counterpart to almost end up forgetting the other priority targets and end up sniping only each other. A friendly rivalry of sorts had developed and as such, the Australian certainly knew how to counter-snipe pretty damn well by now. As much as he sensed the constant danger and as much as he knew it was quite unprofessional of him, he couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement, of anticipation.

Unlike most of the others, he was using his stock weapon, as was the Grey counterpart. No doubt there'd be some minor differences between them, his trusty rifle was certainly well-used, but apart from that they were on equal footing. He'd decided not to turn to his other weapons unless it was completely necessary, but somehow he doubted that. His foe was another Sniper after all, and at the range they preferred to work at, their rifles would be best.

He couldn't help but notice every little thing, the sounds of the others' battles, the slow dripping of sweat down his forehead, the electricity in the air he could taste on his tongue, the shadows and cover that could held danger...

In this showdown there would be no worn-out conflicts, no exchanging of blows, no dramatic close-range confrontations. There was only the slow, cautious moving, the thrill of simultaneously being both the hunter and the hunted. A single shot to the head was all it took, and all he'd be going for. All the skill, all the battle experience, all the caution in the world, the best spot, the best reflexes...it'd be for naught if the Grey Sniper could get a single good bead on his head.

As such, getting the first shot was pretty much essential. That being said, if the shot was took and either missed or was non-fatal, well...Jack would give his position away and might possibly lose his head before he even had the chance to go for cover or reload. The battle would likely come down to who would shoot first and whether that shot was true or not.

They both had a good idea of where the other was and the former BLU was near certain that he'd narrowed down the specific spot his foe was hiding at. Still, even as he looked through his scope at where he thought the other assassin was, he kept his wits about him. God knows how many times he'd died due to not paying enough attention to his surroundings. Only if he messed up this time...he wouldn't be coming back, and there'd be nobody to protect the team from the Sniper.

The question was...who'd lose their nerve and reveal themselves first?

It was only the slightest rustle carried over to his keen ears by the gentle wind from afar and it may have only been his imagination, but all the same, Jack felt the shock through his spine and let instincts hold, quickly sidestepping to one side as a crack thundered out over the area and a high-calibre, high-velocity round implanted itself in the ground a little behind where he had been standing. Instantly and with barely a thought, his rifle swivelled to face the location the sound had come from. Scope to his eye, it no longer mattered that he'd been wrong about his enemy's location and that it had nearly cost his life.

All that mattered...

He quickly sought out and located the Grey mercenary, who was looking hurried, trying to get out of his line of sight.

All that mattered...

But he was too slow and in what felt like an eternity but was closer to an instant, the shot had been lined up and the trigger was pressed.

All that mattered...

Another boom, identical to the previous one, but this bullet met its mark, the target's head exploding in a shower of skin and eyes and blood and bone.

All that mattered was the _kill_.

Jack took off his hat, holding it to his chest, observing a moment's silence for his fellow professional.

###

Gabriel, in a way, pitied the others. Their little duels would no doubt be filled with much pain and violence. His, however, was more a battle of wits, of deception, of cunning. Whilst such a battle could potentially go on for quite some time and prove to be most frustrating, the Spy wasn't in the mood for any of that nonsense.

He'd been expecting the chaos; he'd been expecting that everyone would go their separate ways amidst the gunfire and explosions, and that the duels would either begin with some distance away from the others, or in some cases, considerable distance. This was not to be for his little battle. His Grey foe, handsome as he was, appeared to be quite the fool, arrogant and so assured of his victory.

Indeed, part of the Frenchman mused, this Spy was much like himself when younger. Some might argue that he was still like this now, but age and experience had tempered the arrogance with a slight tinge of knowledge and wisdom. It was the difference between thinking yourself the very best and knowing yourself to be amongst the best. The difference may not sound like much, but it made a world of difference.

And so Gabriel had been able to track his Grey-clad mirror, even through the chaos, even as his cloaked prey slipped through other battles, even as he slowly tried to double back on himself, use disguises, distractions and cover to lead the former BLU Spy astray. But the masked man was having none of it and wouldn't let this amateur drag him to some secluded area to play this little game for the rest of the day. No, he would end this here and now if he had to.

Utilising his Omniwatch and being much more careful with his footsteps than his enemy had (no doubt the fool though the sounds of battle would mask his steps, but to a trained ear, the sound could still be detected). He approached the tree he was certain his counterpart was waiting by and without warning, kicked up dust and dirt into the air, temporarily causing a grey cloak to flicker. Instantly, Gabriel was there with his Ambassador on the rookie agent's head, whispering a request for full cooperation.

Spooked at being so easily discovered and having his plans disrupted, the Grey Spy did the first thing he could think of and shot wildly with his revolver, the last few shots being somewhat more dignified and controlled, the holes in the head and body of the former BLU making the Spy's fate all too clear. Such a shame he'd had to kill the target so soon...

Or that is what the mercenary would have thought had it not been for the sudden sound of decloaking behind him and the fading away of the corpse in front of him. Once more he felt a gun by his head, only this time his weapon had been stolen from his grasp before he could react and Gabriel's other arm held him tightly, preventing further movement or escape.

The experienced Spy did all he could to keep the pressure on, to inspire unholy fear into this fool, to pull secrets from his lips, but all his best efforts were met with mere silence. Knowing a lost cause when he saw one, Gabriel admitted that it was entirely possible that his foe was trained well to not talk, or was indeed mute. A quick precision stab to the spine ended the problem and the Frenchman found himself inspecting the body afterwards for two reasons:

Firstly, he had to confirm that this was not a decoy created by the Dead Ringer or similar. He was paranoid by nature and wouldn't be surprised if being caught so easily was part of a bigger act. It was both relieving and disappointing when the corpse turned out to be genuine.

Secondly...he _really_ needed a smoke and if he had to loot a corpse to get one, he was goddamn willing by this point!

###

A _mysterious_ man seemingly hailing from Britain comes bearing **mirrors**, enticing the mercenaries to fight their off-coloured **reflections**.

The same man disrupts the _balance_ further, claiming to be **the tenth class**, seemingly holding knowledge of this war and similar ones before it, his past no doubt bearing _answers_ the team needs.

It is this so-called "_Gentleman_" who finds himself confronting the **Crimson Demon** himself. When **man** meets **monster**, what outcome could there be? When the mirrors are _shattered_ around them, which of the two is revealed as the _real_ monster?

Somewhere beyond the realm of war, eight former mercenaries look on with pride as their old rivals continue to become stronger...

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><p><strong>Author notes: <strong>Apologies for the terrible cliffhanger and wildly different lengths for each class battle, this was pretty much the only place I could cut this chapter and it was plenty long enough as it is. Consider the relatively quick release of these last two chapters as a sorry for the time periods without updates and as a **big, big thank you** for all the support and reviews! As of the time of writing, I'm at 99 reviews, something I didn't think I'd reach ever with my first fic, let alone in less than a year. Nor did I imagine that I'd get this far and actually continue writing.

So...seriously, thank you. Thanks to you who gave criticism, to you who told me what you loved, to those who pushed me forwards, to those who corrected my mistakes and to every reader for encouraging me to come this far. Expect the next update to be in a week or so.


	28. The Tenth Class

_****_**Author's notes: **Apologies for the delay, but after those last two massive chapters I needed a bit of a break, and so I return with this short chapter to tide you over until the next. This chapter was checked before upload, so it should be error-free, courtesy of GothicCheshire. In future most chapters will have someone besides myself check them before being published, as to reduce silly mistakes.**  
><strong>

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><p><em><strong>Chapter 28: The Tenth Class<strong>_

"...from one _Angel_ of **Death** to another, let us **demons** dance once more!"

As simple as that, the battle begun, neither man playing heed to the chaos around them as the mercenaries fought their mirror images. But to call it a mere battle would be to understate the situation, for it was more than a mere clash of steel, an exchange of attacks, a violent confrontation. There was an intensity and a strange undercurrent to it, a contrast of fire and ice.

Isaac struck fast and hard, for all his rational mind was telling him to go easy on this old man, something more primitive, more primal, urged him to strike with all his might. Some other part of his mind, quiet in thought, mused that there must be more to this "Gentleman" than met the eye. This suspicion was proven, not through careful observation, but in an instant flurry of blows.

The Engineer had boosted forward on his thrusters, sword drawn and at the ready. But for all his strength, for all his speed, for all his burning drive, he left not a single scratch on the suited foe. Not once showing any surprise or even any effort on his features, the Gentleman blocked, deflected and gracefully dodged every strike with nothing more than his umbrella at the ready. This in itself was a bad sign and Isaac should have taken the time to get of range and maybe try to quickly change strategies. Indeed, the thought passed through his mind, but he was too slow to capitalise on it.

Instead he found himself caught in shock when his fiery assault was stopped by the cold touch of the Gentleman. Both arms gripping his sword, raised for a powerful overhead slice that would have split his enemy in two...but the arms had been halted by a single hand, the Brit having moved in close and now holding the strike at bay with minimal effort, umbrella held loosely in his other hand.

"Perhaps you should consider attacking with a clearer mind, whilst your form didn't slip that much, winding up for stronger attacks just leaves you vulnerable, Sir Howard. Now if you are quite done...?"

Struggle as he might, the Engineer could not shift out of the position and before he could attempt to counter with a kick to the Gentleman's knee, his foe had raised his umbrella and his only sensation was that of being flung backwards from the force of the blow. Skidding painfully on his rear over the rough ground, Isaac came to a stop and slowly brought himself up, sword still in hand.

"...I believe it's my turn."

The former RED had no time to prepare himself, for as soon as those words were spoken by his foe, the supposed Tenth Class was in front of him, striking swiftly and efficiently with his umbrella. The motions were quick, controlled, calculated. There was great strength behind each strike, but not overly so, not once did the Brit overextend himself or leave himself vulnerable to a counterattack. It was all Isaac could do to evade the assault, and that by itself was becoming quickly tiring.

He would deflect a blow to the side with his sword only for the Gentleman to easily redirect his umbrella's movement with little more than a twirl of the wrist, changing the battering attack into a forwards thrust for the torso. The sword could not be moved fast enough to block, so instead Isaac twisted his body and raised his arms anyway, the piercing strike hitting his gauntlet and causing minimal damage. The Gentleman, noting the block, quickly stepped back and then performed a sweeping blow to the legs that almost brought the Engineer to the ground. Another strike, coming to his unprotected side, a quick drop of the weapon into a one handed stance, deflecting the blow from one side as it almost immediately then came in for the other, his robotic arm shielding himself from the blow at the last moment.

And so the assault continued at an incredible pace, Isaac's reactions and observations tested to the limit. Any blows that did break through his defences struck hard, but not enough to cause considerable damage in themselves. Instead it was the wearing down that was the problem. No doubt if he was wearing less in the way of protection and didn't have the LFD soothing his accumulating injuries he'd have succumbed to the Gentleman's tactic by now. But even with the healing rays quickly fixing any damage and his own fighting spirit, the tactic was certainly tiring him out and left him unable to do much.

The rapid attacks prevented him from drawing another weapon, trying to escape from the blows or from having time to think for a proper plan. He could not try to dodge round, get any closer or leap away from the Gentleman, as no doubt the old man would be on him in an instant. Wait...can't go forwards, can't go back, can't go around and can't go under...but there was nothing stopping him from going over his foe, was there?

With a sudden grin and burst of energy, the Crimson Demon bared its fangs and parried the latest thrust with enough intensity to catch his foe off guard for but an instant. And an instant was all he needed. Muscles tensing in his legs, sword gripped in both hands and thrusters primed, he launched himself off the ground, blade swung beneath him in an upwards arc that the Brit was only just able to block by holding his umbrella horizontally. Still, as Isaac finished the arcing attack and flew over the Gentleman, just out of reach, he was satisfied to see that the old man had been caught off guard by that one and was slightly off balance from his hasty block.

Quickly landing some distance behind the Tenth Class, the Demon raised his left arm, now a chaingun and unleashed a storm of bullets towards his foe, even as his other arm sheathed his sword and prepared his shotgun, should he need it. Even as the lethal barrage of custom incendiary ammunition made its path towards their target, the target had other plans. Whipping around, umbrella still gripped before him in both hands, the Gentleman thrust his apparent weapon of choice forwards and clicked a button on the handle.

The bullets found themselves impacting the now open umbrella, and for all their velocity, they were unable to penetrate the large canopy that now served as an effective shield. Apart from a slight shuddering from the impacts and a growing frown on the Gentleman's face, hidden behind his brolly barrier, there was no sign that any bullets or shrapnel had made it through or that this old veteran was uncomfortable in any way.

Noting that his attack had done little besides add a few scorch marks and scratches into whatever crazy material that umbrella was made of, but that the Brit was still on the defensive, Isaac made his choice. Halting his fire, his arm transformed and he brought his shotgun up, the mighty weapon carried in both hands as he launched himself at his opponent. Blocking his chaingun's rounds with minor aesthetic damage was one thing, but shielding himself from the fury that Vengeance would unleash was a whole other matter.

The gap was closed faster than the blink of an eye and with his heart thumping; the Engineer's finger pressed the trigger, arms and body already bracing themselves for the incredible knockback. Not for the first time, the wrath of Thor himself was made known on the battlefield, charged buckshot exploding into the air with all the caution and control as an earthquake. The blast halted the Demon's charge forwards and disorientated him for but the briefest of moments as his eyes and ears both adjusted. It was then that he saw, despite all the speed in which he had closed the gap and fired, despite the man being behind his barrier the whole time and not seeing his approach until it was too late...

The Tenth Class crouched on one knee, his umbrella closed and held limply in his right arm, his left reaching over to where a single piece of buckshot had just barely skimmed over his dominant arm, instantly shredding through clothing and skin alike. The veteran civilian-turned-mercenary had somehow sidestepped the entire attack faster than it could reach him and had avoided all but the most glancing of blows from it. Nursing his wounded arm as red blood trickled down the sleeve of his black suit; the Brit looked the Texan in the eyes and slowly rose to his feet, his weapon still held loosely in his right hand.

Isaac found himself just standing there, looking at this man who had turned out to be so much more than he expected. He couldn't shake the feeling that despite his dark goggles his opponent could see into his eyes just as easily as he could into his. Those eyes...fire entrapped within ice, and now the fire seemed to burn brighter and brighter...until it dulled, returning to a controlled presence once more. Monocle still covering one eye, the smallest of smiles graced the former civilian's lips.

"I am most impressed, Sir Isaac Howard, your reputation is certainly most deserved. Had I been any slower you would have no doubt torn me to pieces in a most spectacular fashion, I can see why one such as you would be able to best Mr Hale in the art of combat."

The former RED found himself quiet and still tense, but something told him that he could take a step back, and relax the hold on his weapon ever so slightly. This "Gentleman"...he was proving to be quite interesting. Finally, after a few painful seconds of silence, Isaac replied, voice small and calmed, even as his heart still raced a little.

"...It wasn't just me that defeated that Australian monster. It was the team...it was all of us. Me? I just landed the last blow."

The smile on the Brits face grew a little and he chuckled gently.

"Ah, but of course. It is good to see that you understand the contributions of your comrades, but all the same, if I may say so, you certainly did more than merely finish the beast off."

The strange veteran sighed for a moment and slowly, carefully, placed his umbrella down, all whilst under Isaac's confused gaze. Producing a first-aid kit, he glanced back at the Engineer.

"I understand that as enemies engaged on the battlefield that this is somewhat improper of me to ask, but I may suggest a brief break? We are both tired and could no doubt use a little...refresher."

The Engineer merely looked suspicious at this, in all honesty he didn't know why he hadn't just shot the man again and gotten this over with. But...this man wasn't like the others he had fought, he was strangely polite, didn't seem to particularly want to kill him and...he couldn't explain it, but something about the mysterious Tenth Class felt trustworthy. The Brit quickly wrapped his wound and sat down cautiously on a nearby rock, procuring a cup of hot tea from seemingly nowhere.

"I have my refresher here and I dare say that the marvellous invention on your back should suffice for you, correct?"

Slowly, still unsure of himself, Isaac nodded, lowering his weapon. His muscles relaxed, but only a little. He was still ready to leap into action should things turn south quick.

"...that portable dispenser of yours is no doubt why my earlier assault was not as effective as I'd imagined. A poor lack of judgement on my part, but such cannot be helped. I do apologise for the rough treatment, but I have my orders and holding back too much would not have allowed me to gather the proper test data I require."

"Test data? Wait, you were holding back!"

At this the Brit merely sipped his tea for a moment, relaxing and savouring both the warmth and the flavour, before turning his gaze to his adversary. Removing his hat and monocle, his eyes and grey hair fully exposed. He reached into his breast pocket as he spoke, retrieving an expensive-looking silver pocket watch on a chain from within.

"Indeed. Awfully sorry for the deception, but just as you were not harnessing your better abilities, neither was I. It hardly seemed fair after all, and as much as my Master would like you dead, killing you at this stage would be somewhat counter-productive to both my own goals and my Master's, whether they realise it or not."

The Gentleman seemed rather causal and detached from the whole business, looking at his pocket watch for a few moments before glancing at the Texan, who was unsure of how to react and was struggling with his emotions. That the two were causally talking after almost killing one another and as the other mercenaries were unleashing general madness on one another was...unsettling to say the least.

A rocket came flying towards the unlikely pair out of nowhere, its trajectory including the former civilian directly in its line of fire. Barely paying the wayward explosive any mind, in an instant the old man had his umbrella, swung it at the incoming projectile and with a perfectly timed release combined with the swing and a little thrust, the rocket was deflected back into the sky, where it vanished and left only an explosion behind. All this was performed in a motion Isaac could barely track with his eyes before the increasingly dangerous man was sat down once more, tea and watch in hand. He raised the latter up, letting the Engineer's gaze fall upon its well-polished and stainless surface.

"After all, when one has some degree of control over the _very passage of time_, even your own terrible **power** hardly seems sufficient to ensure a fair fight."


	29. The Master of Time

**Author's notes: **Massive apologies for the lateness of this chapter and it's relative shortness. A lot of things came up that prevented me from writing, both of the minor, energy-sapping variety and the major-emotional-upheaval kind. On the plus side, passed my driving test first time and on the _hopefully_ plus side (but could be _bad_ side), I get my exam results tomorrow. My fate will be determined then...  
>So um, yeah, enjoy the chapter, thanks for the support and all being well you won't have to wait so long for the next ^_^;<p>

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><p><em><strong>The Last Engineer – Chapter 29: The Master of Time<strong>_

Time. One of the four dimensions that makes up the very fabric of reality as we know it. Seemingly unchangeable, the very notion of altering fate or walking to any point in history has been gripping the imagination of humanity for generations upon generations. To control space is to own all that is the present. But to control time is to own all that ever was and ever will be.

Time. When it all comes down to it, there's never enough and all mortals can only wish they had more of it or spent their limited allowance better. A currency beyond value, forever slipping out of your grasp, always fading away. Those who have spent their time wisely become great forces in the world and as such, history records them.

Time. To change the past, to alter the present, to secure the future...a power too great to resist. Everyone has some tragedy in the past to prevent, whether personal or something more global. Isaac Howard, former RED Engineer, is no exception.

The Crimson Demon stares at his foe and the watch in his hand, a strange lust filling his being, even as rationality and scepticism holds him back. The Demon craves the power, some part of him arguing that he needs it, that everything can be _fixed_ again. Why be sceptical of the power? To one who has witnessed a war with temporary deaths, weapons that break physics, the ability to warp through space, invisibility, clones, a robot army and more...is the ability to manipulate time really such a stretch of the imagination?

"...I can see that has gotten your attention. Perhaps...perhaps you would care for a demonstration?"

Silence. It seemed odd that there should be silence, weren't the others fighting still? But all the same, the air was thick with it as the Gentleman slowly got to his feet, watch and tea in hand.

A sudden motion and the cup was flung into the air. The pair watched, almost as if in slow-motion as it span and what little fluid remained within the cup left, droplets streaking through the air. Isaac blinked and felt his mouth fall open. It wasn't merely adrenaline or a trick of the mind, the tea really was moving slower than it should and was getting increasingly slower until finally the cup and fluid, clearly separate, were suspended in mid-air.

He could see the individual droplets that had flown away from the main body of the liquid; he could see the irregular shape of it in mid-flight. Taking a step to the side, he looked around it at a different angle, still wary of getting too close to the self-proclaimed Tenth Class. Even as he boggled at the implications, part of him questioned whether this was truly time manipulation or rather, some form of levitation or a hologram or something else. Still, he stepped back for a moment all the same, his goggled gaze returning to the enigma of a man before him.

"Unfortunately, I believe there is still at least one fight still on-going and I hate to ask this of you, but we do need a little more data from you. Please brace yourself."

Gritting his teeth and still very uncertain about this whole business, Isaac complied all the same, readying both his weapons and his mind. Maybe he'd get some real answers later or he'd figure it all out when given a moment, but it looked like he was in for another painfully frantic clash.

###

The last time the Gentleman had unleashed his fury of blows, Isaac had been pushed to his limits just to evade, parry, deflect and cover his own openings. That he'd been able to counter-attack last time was itself an impressive feat. But there'd be no such feats this time.

There was no fury, only the cold, only the pain, only the despair. The proud demon felt himself slow, felt every thought and motion become sluggish, seeing only brief images of his foe as he was battered from all sides at a speed that just didn't seem possible. Desperate, he fired Vengeance, hoping that the powerful wide spread of charged buckshot would find the ever-moving foe. But it was not to be.

Just as with the tea, the storm of buckshot slowed and halted in mid-flight, the Gentleman nowhere to be seen. Teeth clenched, body screaming in agony as a mighty blow punched through his side, he brought his mechanical arm up, the prosthetic already shifting into the chaingun...only for it too, to halt and lock up before it was complete, a hunk of partially-shifted metal, useless to him now.

It was then that he started to feel the terror licking at his mind, a fright he hadn't felt take purchase on his soul since he had first experienced the power of one Saxton Hale. But this was so very different. Hale was a beast of a man and the fear that gripped his prey was primal, something that acted on instinct. You didn't need to see the Australian tear through your team to be afraid, you already knew.

The Gentleman was different. He was very much a mere man and in some ways that was all the more terrifying. He held mystery, knowledge and impossible power behind his affable exterior. Earlier he had been holding back and still had come so close to destroying Isaac. Some voice in his mind cynically noted that perhaps even now, as blows rained down from all angles, as his very mind itself was being slowed, this opponent was still not showing his full power.

...it was getting dark and he could no longer hear. He felt blood trickle down him, he felt bones snap, he felt the shadow dancing around him. The question of "where?" didn't matter. The wounds were _everywhere_, the assault was _everywhere_ and most importantly, the **Master of Time** was _everywhere_.

Until, suddenly, it wasn't. The weakened demon looked up from his knees, not even realising that he'd fallen at some point. His mind, as fast as it had been, wept as signals of pain screamed their undying torment at him. His body, beaten and battered but not yet broken, could still move unhindered were it not for the pain.

The Brit was standing there, leaning heavily on his umbrella, his clothes and weapons somehow devoid of the Engineer's blood. Breathing was laboured and the expression on his ageing face was strained, at best. Whatever exactly that time control had been that had frozen bullet and prosthetic alike, and reduced the Engineer to a crawl, it would appear that it was severely draining.

Had Isaac been in a better state, perhaps he would have theorised on how this made sense, if such a weapon existed without any truly significant downside then the Administrator would have already used it to wipe them out and take over the world. Maybe he would have further noted that the Gentleman appeared to be the only one able to make use of the ability and that for all of the attacks, the Brit honestly did not mean to kill him.

As it was however, the former RED was in no state to ponder on such things. Instead, his practical mind absorbed the components of the problem and saw the solution.

It was simple but it was enough for a pained smile to grace his bruised features for but a brief moment. He may not have been able to use an Über-Overdrive, but there was nothing stopping him from using a normal Übercharge, was there? And right now, with his teammates still occupied fighting or regrouping, he had his enemy standing still and weakened.

Isaac flipped the switch.

###

Compared to the almost godly power imbued to him by the Über-Overdrive, a mere Übercharge no longer made him feel quite as invincible. Oh, there was no denying the charge running through his blood, the booming beat of his heart, the healing aura fixing his wounds and the pain fading to nothing. There was no denying that right now, for but a brief stretch of time he was invulnerable to damage and charged with tremendous energy. There was also no denying that he was exhausted and injured.

The Über may grant temporary invulnerability, erase the pain, grant a burst of energy and allow the medigun and dispenser components of the LFD to treat his wounds, but it wouldn't instantly undo the damage. And so, as his body shone and crackled, Isaac got to his feet and took a deep breath in, aware that his time was already running out.

His foe was weakened and did not wish him dead. His teammates would be here soon. Thus his goal was not to defeat the Gentleman, even if he could. No, he just had to survive and cause some damage in this opening he had been given.

The Crimson Demon, mind set and body recovered enough to suffice, charged forward with a quick boost from his thrusters, his robotic arm transforming back from its half-changed state back into a fist. His opponent looked up and his eyes widened at the approach, monocle falling from it's place before his eye.

For once, the Gentleman did not parry the blow. He did not move with it to negate damage, he didn't dodge it, he didn't alter the flow of time...he merely took the powerful uppercut straight to his chin, his body sent flying into the air. Isaac held his posture, fist still raised in the air, panting as the charge finally flickered away into nothingness. His ears picked up the sound of footsteps coming to a halt even as his head raised up, his eyes tracking the body's trajectory through the air.

The Tenth Class, body seemingly limp, shook himself out of his daze, reaching for his umbrella and with a well-practiced move that seemed more in line with fantasy than reality, gently glided down, using his open weapon as a parachute. His landing was soft but all the same the veteran fell to one knee, wheezing, head bowed down.

When he looked up again, he saw the entirety of Team Fortress standing, weapons at the ready, Isaac at the front of them all, sweat on his face as he levelled Vengeance down at the Englishman. His voice was slightly less steady than before, but it was still strangely calm and polite, with a good measure of reserve as he addressed the Engineer and his team.

"I seem to have overlooked a crucial detail yet again. A shame you weren't able to use that charge before I trapped you in my **Temporal Field**, that would have certainly made things interesting. Alas, just because you have the perfect tools to negate your foe don't mean you get the chance to use them perfectly."

The former RED's face briefly frowned, having come to the same conclusion himself, wincing slightly. It faded and he glanced at the rest of his team, their state of health varied, and saw that Nils was already taking care of the any damage they had suffered. His eyes met Dell's and the other Engineer nodded.

Turning back to the Gentleman, Isaac's words were short and to the point:

"We want answers."

The Englishman smiled, light returning to his eyes even as his body remained deadly still, all too aware that a single twitch could get him killed.

"Don't we all, Sir Howard? _Excellent_ performance by everyone today, you've given us a lot of useful data to work with. I look forward to working with _all of you_ in the **future**."

Before anyone could question the enigmatic man, the sound of many cloaking devices deactivating distracted them, as did the sight of various complex bundles of machinery loaded with sensors rising into the air, some by rotors, others by thrusters and some seemingly all of their own accord. With a series of beeps and whirs, the machines that had been recording every aspect of the battles today vanished in a burst of white light, temporarily blinding the mercenaries.

Blinking and squinting, they could just make out the figure of the Gentleman as he stood up, waved and likewise disappeared in a smaller flash, leaving them alone with only his last words as an answer:

"Cheerio chaps!"

###

Bathed in darkness, the only light coming from the countless monitors displaying the world and the cigarette in her mouth, the Administrator waited. She was not known to be patient or forgiving, but there was one underling of hers, that were she a lesser being, she might have said she even had some degree of respect for.

And it was he, just as she was starting to feel annoyance come on, that quietly but confidently entered her lair, replacement monocle shining in the shadows. He walked with a strength that was unexpected for someone of his age, especially after combat with minimal medical treatment.

The Gentleman halted at his master's desk, gently placing down a stack of folders, neatly organised to perfection, for her to consider at her leisure.

"We were able to meet our expectations with regards to data on both the latest project and the rogue mercenaries. It is being decoded and analysed as we speak."

Helen swivelled to face the Englishman, her face as severe as ever as she tapped her cigarette against the ash tray, giving the stack of folders at best a momentary glance before her gaze homed in on her subordinate. He didn't flinch from her gaze or otherwise react, his face the definition of professional calm.

"...and you, William? What are your observations on the fools who call themselves 'Team Fortress'?"

The Tenth Class and Master of Time paused for a moment before replying, making sure that his response was accurate, honest and informative.

"...prior to the fall of RED team, they were _merely_ dangerous. Now, however, they are a serious and legitimate **threat** that could potentially end _everything_. The failure of the experimental clones was not a failure of the R&D department. Had the grey team faced the RED and BLU of old, I daresay both teams would have been **annihilated**. They have simply become too strong; especially the one _assigned the name_ 'Isaac Howard'..."

"Explain yourself."

Her order was short, sharp and to the point. The Administrator was not fond of unnecessary verbosity, but it was something she had grown to accept from the idiots around her.

"In today's confrontation, even without his _higher abilities_ available, he was able to honestly keep up with me in combat. His resistance to the Temporal Field was minimal, but he has proven to be able to survive even the darkest hour and be able to turn the tables on his foes. The team is individually made up of some of the most powerful individuals, but united together, especially with this **demon** amongst them..."

He paused, for the first time looking away from Helen, opting to wipe his monocle of dust instead before replying, gaze still shying away from her.

"...well, frankly, milady, I am doubtful of your victory, especially if any further resources are spent trying to subdue them. If I may be so bold as to say so, any attempt we make to do so will fail. It is possible perhaps for me to eliminate a few if I were to unleash myself fully at them, but-"

"**No.**"

She interrupted him tersely, cold steel in her eyes. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, mere imagination, but the slightest bit of warmth (or rather, a decrease in coldness) crept into her features as she looked over her subordinate, her tool, her servant of war.

"You are too valuable a piece to lose at this stage. Regardless of the threat they pose, I still have use for you yet, William."

Surprise was clearly visible as the Gentleman processed this but he quickly changed to his neutral mask and bowed.

"As you wish. How else may I be of service?"

The Announcer span away, her back to him as she observed the monitors once more, closing her eyes as she took a deep draw from her cigarette. Blowing the smoke into the air, the haze rising through the darkness, her voice took on a chilly edge, even more so than usual.

"Leave me. And tell Miss Pauling that I expect to hear from her about our test data within an hour, nevermind how long the analysis takes. Am I clear?"

A single bead of sweat on his brow was the only sign of discomfort that would have given him away had she been facing him. Not that it mattered, she always knew anyway.

"Of course."

No further words were wasted as he turned to leave the room, the Master of Time glancing at the watch he treasured so dearly, lost in the past.

###

On a _battlefield_ in the middle of _nowhere_, ten men recover and question each other, seeking both **solace** and **answers**.

On a battlefield where much _blood_ has been shed, nine corpses lie, _mirrors_ that have been **broken** free of their **madness**.

On a battlefield far away in both space and _time_, a younger man _cries_ in regret and **pain**, knowing a hard **future** lies ahead.

For fate has no master and the many branching paths of destiny know no end.


	30. Recovery and Reminiscence

**Author's notes: **So so so sorry for the lateness of this update! Had to sort out stuff with regards to Uni but that's really no excuse, I've had plenty of time where I've been doing nothing. Just wasn't in a writing mood I guess? In any case, here's the latest chapter. Apologies for any mistakes, I had this rough version done about a week ago, but I've not heard back from my beta and I suck at proof-reading stuff, so...yeah. (I'm also lazy)  
>Next update will be...uh...eventually?<p>

_Edit:_ Okay, corrected version now up. At the advice of GothicCheshire, flashbacks are now italics, to help minimise any potential confusion. Also, holy gabe, somebody added this fic to the Fanfic Recommendations for TF2 over on TvTropes. That's just...wow, thank you all.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter 30: Recovery and Reminiscence <strong>_

The journey away from their latest battle was a quiet one. The wind was the softest of whispers caressing their worn faces, the sky was free from the cawing of birds and each member of Team Fortress was lost in their own thoughts. It didn't seem right to speak, to voice of their individual challenges, of the countless questions bubbling in their minds, of the itch for answers they simply couldn't scratch. Perhaps Dell would have said that there was no sense in dwelling on it right now, perhaps Kevin would have found something to be distracted with...but that was if they were still the people they once were.

The war had changed them. Fighting almost every day over control points, payloads and briefcases of intelligence had started as a strange grim affair, which became increasingly light-hearted as they adjusted to a battlefield with no real consequences. But, as the pointless battles waged on with no end in sight, as the thought cropped up that perhaps this job wasn't worth it...that thought was always squashed without a real reason and they'd return to their jobs.

And now, with each new day bringing a new challenge, a new foe, a new threat...

Doubt. Uncertainty. Could they win? Could they really go back to normalcy after this? Would they be remembered as the most wanted men in the world? These questions, for now, didn't matter. They were unimportant, not when there was still work to be done. What of their new enemy, of this mysterious data he had collected on them, of the clones they had fought?

They continued to trudge on in silence. It would be a long day.

###

The Gentleman eased himself into his armchair, reaching over to the table by his side for the cup of tea that stood in wait for him, currently at the optimum temperature. Here in his private quarters alone did he feel comfortable in relaxing ever so slightly. Of course, it was somewhat foolish to believe that he had any more privacy here than anywhere else, just because he was arguably the Administrator's most trusted and loyal underling hardly made him free from surveillance.

Still, his room was something of a safe haven, free from the eyes of all but her and himself. Nobody was authorised to enter or view footage from this room besides himself and Helen. In truth, he suspected that she didn't review any recordings for his room often, if at all, and the presence of cameras and listening devices were more of a reminder of his duty and where his loyalty lay.

The briefest of sighs escaping his lips, he sipped at his tea before placing the cup and saucer down, turning his attention to the newspaper that also lay awaiting his eyes. The slightest raising of an eyebrow was his only reaction as he skimmed through it before placing it down again. More sensationalist tripe and information that was useless at best and brain-damaging at worst.

Glancing once more at his pocket watch, he found his gaze slowly veering towards the fireplace in the centre of the wall opposite him. His room was small and whilst little here was truly expensive or fancy, the room held an air of class none-the-less. It was an old-fashioned setup on the whole, and he was fond of it, the flames flickering opposite him providing a warmth and atmosphere little else could offer. Indeed, to gaze into those flames, of the great element that could destroy so easily, that which was arguably humanity's first great step of advancement...

It was humbling, in a way, but it was also strangely nostalgic...

###

_It was a cold night and the group was huddled around a makeshift fireplace in a small clearing in the woods, the light of the flickering flames casting shadows around them and their hastily-erected camp. The mercenaries talked and moved about, but one among their ranks remained silent and still, staring into the fire, a briefcase and an umbrella clutched to his chest. The man had bags under his eyes, stress was etched into his features and he was shaking uncontrollably. Whether he was merely shivering from the cold or from an unspoken fear couldn't be told, but he shook all the same._

_It was only when a blanket was gently placed on his shoulders that the man was shaken out of his trance, turning to look at the mercenary who had silently approached him. The Engineer merely stood there wordlessly for a moment, offered a reassuring pat on the shoulder and a bit of a helpless shrug before returning to make some last-minute adjustments to the camp. The shaking man blinked and tried to process this, his mind all muddled and unable to really process much of what was happening._

"_Oi! Civilian #437! What do ya think you're doing? Get in the damn tent!"_

Suddenly all eyes were on the man by the fire, wrapped in a blanket. It didn't matter which mercenary it was that had actually called out to him, they mostly all seemed the same. They were rough people who weren't too pleased with having to escort the Civilian around, seeing the man as little more than a very annoying and pathetic burden.

_He did as he was told, not saying anything, not looking any of them in the eyes. They had guns, were quick to anger, and it wasn't as if he could do anything about their attitude. He was but a helpless man lost in combat he couldn't comprehend and afraid for his life, well-aware that this team were the only thing preventing his swift demise at the hands of the enemy. Had he the strength, the sheer nerve to look up then, perhaps he would have noticed the frown of the Engineer, the concern of the Medic, the masked gaze of the Pyro..._

_Instead the Civilian entered the tent, wrapped himself up as best he could and tried futilely to sleep, the sounds of the night and the terror running through his veins preventing his eyes from even shutting. The night was going to be long and arduous, as would the rest of the journey through contested territory..._

###

Team Fortress had eventually had the silence lifted and whilst nobody seemed ready to go into details about their individuals battles against their doubles, productive conversation regarding their next steps did ensue. Still uncertain of what exactly would happen next; general agreement was that the Administrator probably wouldn't be throwing masses of troops at them like the previous manhunts. Indeed, if the recent robotic horde and clones were any indication, developing a specific unit to deal with them seemed more likely.

With her resources stretched from wasting so much against them already and the need to defend from smaller, stronger groups, it seemed that finding a single base of operations to secure as their own would prove more productive than flitting from one base to another like they had in the past. Valid objections from Kevin, Gabriel and Jane about how this made them obvious targets and that it was something of a gamble rose up but it still seemed to be the best choice.

Jack then pointed out that with all the damage they'd done they were going to be easily discovered regardless, as no doubt they were the highest-priority targets at the moment. Before an argument could arise, Dell added quietly that the Administrator could just bide her time, ignore them, seize power and then deal with them afterwards, in which case a single base to secure their power at and prepare for a direct assault on TF Industries would be more efficient.

Eventually able to reach consensus, and deciding on which base to capture, their spirits lifted and some energy returned to them as they walked faster, some joking and laughing easing the tension and stress somewhat. Perhaps it was something about having a goal; maybe it was Grigori's infectious booming laughter at Ewan being tripped up by Ashley, the way Isaac smiled when the Pyro offered a hand to the fallen Demoman, the exasperation on Nils' face as his eyes rolled...

It felt good.

And if all went well with the new base and the operation they were planning...then perhaps the good times would continue for quite some time.

###

The Gentleman leaned back, swirling a glass of red wine in his hand, contemplating the swishing fluid as if it might hold answers to the mysteries of life itself. The fireplace crackled and the radio softly streamed the refined sounds of pianos and strings, of brass and woodwind, orchestral classics for a cultured mind. The day was one spent largely in lone leisure.

Certainly, the Brit had to break away from his early rest to perform some errands, file proper paperwork and pretend not to notice how flustered Miss Pauling was when rushing about earlier but on the whole he had merely relaxed, partly out of his own need and partly out of doctor's orders. Wincing, he tried to banish the doctor's disapproving look from his mind. The Tenth Class definitely wasn't getting any younger and one of these days he'd probably be in some serious trouble from his fieldwork. But for now?

For now, as time slipped further and further into night, a blanket of darkness coating the outside world, the Gentleman drank his wine. He was not one to indulge in alcohol often, especially not when alone, but it felt appropriate tonight. Casting his mind back, his eyes slowly shut to envision the past once more...

###

_The Civilian opened his eyes slowly, body rigid and tense. It took a few seconds for his mind to process the scene before him, his eyes widening as his jaw dropped and he shook, stepping backwards, his grip on his umbrella loosening, eyes slowly looking down to his blood-stained hands and then back up again at the Scout, the enemy mercenary barely standing, features frozen as he staggered, one hand on the chest and the umbrella embedded within, as his other dropped the nailgun._

_They had been ambushed. The distinctive sound of sniper fire barely missing Civilian #437, merely scraping his hat, had alerted them to the enemy's presence, quickly causing everyone to get behind cover. The Englishman, in a state of panic, fell to the floor and crawled behind a shipping crate, losing his hat behind him._

_The team had advanced from the woods and had planned on slipping through an abandoned warehouse, but it quickly became apparent that this was not to be. The Soldier cursed himself for walking into a trap like this. Normally both teams were more used to urban combat, especially when escorting a VIP. Maybe the irregularities of this mission had simply thrown the team off, but that was no excuse. Just because the team consisted of all nine classes for a change, the enemy were using more than just Snipers, and for some reason the distance they had to escort was much longer than usual didn't mean they could just be so careless._

_Still, the team of mercenaries didn't stay alive this long in the business due to sheer luck; they were the best at what they did. This fact was quickly proven as a single shot from their own Sniper eliminated the enemy's before they could get another chance to shoot. Motioning for the Heavy, Demoman and Pyro to stay here, the Soldier gestured to the rest to attack with him, the Sniper and Spy already having vanished off somewhere to do what they did best._

_The sounds of distant gunfire and explosions put those who had been assigned to watch over the Civilian on edge, to say nothing of the poor non-mercenary himself, who as usual looked rather terrified. Heavy kept his eyes peeled, minigun at the ready, looking at the warehouse as the Pyro looked all around for Spies, and the Demoman's eyes flickered over to where he had concealed some remote-detonated pipebombs._

_Only Engineer really kept an eye on the Civilian himself. In truth, the support class was rather irritated by this mission, he wasn't much use for escort and he was genuinely confused as to why he'd been assigned to this team. They never stayed anywhere long enough for him to setup defences and the lack of metal prevented him from building anything anyway. His railgun wasn't much use here and if the enemy actually got close enough that he had to use his double-barrelled shotgun, then, well...they were definitely in trouble._

_When it happened, it all occurred in a blur of motion and confusion. The sight of oncoming enemies, the detonation of pipebombs and with a start, the Heavy and Demoman rushed forwards to meet the attackers. The sight of what appeared to be their own Sniper sneaking up on them set off alarm bells in the Pyro's head, causing the masked mercenary to chase the obvious Spy off with their flamethrower._

_And so, with the entirety of the team except for the Engineer and the Civilian distracted or elsewhere, the Scout saw his chance and took it, speeding in on the mostly defensive pair. Despite the chaos, the Engineer managed to bring his shotgun up in time to unleash upon the Scout. A good shot and one that clearly caused a lot of damage, but it wasn't enough. A swift blow to the side of the head and a stream of nails into his face was all it took to down the builder._

_And so the Scout turned on the weapon-less Englishman only to find himself suddenly gored by the sharp point of the Civilian's umbrella. Both in shock, hearts racing, gasping..._

_It was to this scene, with their Engineer presumably dead on the ground and the sight of an enemy Scout falling to his back, umbrella planted in his chest as he breathed his last, the Civilian trembling in his blood-stained suit, that the rest of the team returned to._

_Little was spoken about the incident, of their losses at that battle. With some reluctance the newest killer on the team had retrieved his umbrella and thrown up. The Medic alone, having confirmed the deaths of their Engineer, Spy and Soldier, took the Englishman away to clean him up. Nobody really noticed it too much, but from that moment on, something in the man referred to merely by his number and his state as a non-combatant changed._

_He shook less and less; he followed the orders with minimal wincing and his reflexes improved, increasingly competent in finding cover and evading enemy detection. A man who had treated him differently to the indifference and scorn the other mercenaries threw upon him had died, all to protect him. He had taken a life himself. And now..._

_He was aware more than ever of his place in this team. Vowing not to be a burden any longer, Civilian #437 lived through the mission and countless more to see another day. With each encounter, with each crack of gunfire, every near miss, every death...a coldness and firm resolve struck his heart. He would not cower in fear, he would not let good men die for his sake. Let the others like him, lost in their own importance, look down on the mercenaries even as they took bullets for their lives._

_Let his protectors look down upon him for his lack of battle experience and readiness, for that would soon change. A vow to himself, to the fallen souls around him, to his home country and to all that had, or would ever feel the harsh realities of war..._

_A promise for change. A promise for **vengeance**. A promise to evolve into something **more**, something beyond the weak man he was._

_A **Civilian** no more, he had slept with the soft, unworked hands of a newborn baby, but now he would awaken with the firm hands of a man. Firm...but gentle. Strong...but in control. Let the fires of rage and violence bleed through the majority of those who killed for a living. For his strength was **ice**, a rigid unmovable strength refined to perfection, able to melt into soothing water or sharpen into piercing icicles in the blink of an eye._

_Each battle, each death, each new pool of blood on the earth. What was the point of these conflicts in the end? What goal could truly be worth such needless bloodshed and waste of resources? What could he do about it all?_

_Sleepless night after sleepless night eventually gave way to his path. It was a path of war and service, not for profit or joy, but out of a painful necessity, out of duty and honour. A path of loyalty, of kindness when called for and scorn where required. A path of proper manners and exquisite skill in all he would pursue._

_...'twas the path of the **Gentleman**, the true tenth class._

###

Hidden away with _hope_ in their hearts, ten mercenaries finally settle into their new home, sleep their only reprieve from the **questions** on their mind.

A plan is born, an operation to truly _strike back_ against their **all-powerful** enemy.

Elsewhere a man is **lost** in his memories, remarking on how _history repeats_ itself.

For even _he_ must take time to **recover** from the universe's _cruel_ sense of **irony**.


	31. Home

_****_**Author's notes: **Bit of a different style of chapter this time but hopefully a nice break from the action. All being well, the next chapter should us return into stuff going on with the Team launching their counter-offensive. As ever, thanks to GothicCheshire for being my beta, this chapter would be a lot worse than it currently is otherwise .  
>Updates will be whenever, still settling into university life.<p>

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><p><em><strong>Chapter 31: Home<strong>_

It was risky. Nobody could deny it, switching from the guerrilla tactics of hit and run, moving from base to base...to this. To have a single base to call their own, to amass their power, to defend against their seemingly indestructible foe. Some people would call it crazy, but such people would also argue that the mercenaries themselves were even more insane.

They were relying on a lot of assumption and the chance of it all backfiring was certainly high. For this to work, they'd have to assume that it would be some time before they'd be discovered, that the Administrator wouldn't be able to waste too many resources attempting to destroy them, that any enemy forces that did attack could be defended against from this location...

Suffice to say, everyone on the team knew that they were gambling with their lives here. But...had they not had their lives as the only chip on the table for quite some time now? They could continue forever on the run, taking whatever materials they could and striking against TF Industries along the way, but that would be exhausting and would only wear down the Administrator's power very slowly. With her tightening her stranglehold on RED and BLU (and thus the entire world), time was not something they had much of. Sooner or later she'd be in a position of absolute power and they would be hunted down like dogs.

But, like dogs, Team Fortress have teeth, they can bark, they can bite, they can howl for all they are worth. And so it is here, hidden away in a sophisticated base unused in the RED vs BLU conflict, that they stand their ground. It is here that they will build; it is here that they will rest; it is here that they will launch their counter-attack, fighting tooth and nail, claw and fang, for their own freedom and the fate of the world.

Mostly underground, the small base is hidden in a desolate valley, sheer drops, a narrow path and nearby mountains serving as natural protection: to hide and to funnel foes into a choke point. But the base's natural defences are not what make it so worthy. Sensors around the valley warn of oncoming attack, powerful mounted turrets are hidden strategically in the nooks and crannies whilst anti-air missile launchers keep electronic eyes on the sky above. The bulk of the base itself runs underground and is reinforced to survive bombing runs and holds ample space for the rogue mercenary team.

All in all, a respectable base of operations, one that whilst strong, was undermanned and easily captured by the team. The small teams stationed there were unprepared for the sabotage of an expert Spy, which allowed the rest of the team to easily capture the location as their own. The troops were bored, taken by surprise, unable to even call for help or alert anyone to the attack.

It went as well as could be hoped for, but something felt amiss...

###

Nils had just finished unpacking the last box of medical supplies and was just finishing tidying up the infirmary to his liking when a distinctive whoosh of air followed by a screeching halt hit his ears. Resisting the urge to sigh, the doctor didn't even turn around, instead merely addressing the hyper-active boy fidgeting on the spot.

"Ja, Kevin? Is there something you needed from me?"

The Scout merely glanced around before stammering out a response.

"Ah...um, no doc, I'm fine. I was just uh, checking everywhere out. Later sawbones!"

And that was that, the boy was gone again, no doubt to run around and harass someone else. His behaviour was...strange, but the Medic thought little of it. Kevin was always a little restless in new places and the stress was getting to all of them. And so the doctor went back to fussing over his instruments, mind occupied and hands busy.

###

Ashley was simply sitting on their bed in their spartan room, playing with a lighter idly, head low. Mind lost in thought, of the war, of the Grey Pyro, of this new place they had found themselves in...it was forgivable that the fire-starter completely missed Dell walking past the open door, doubling back and entering with a knock. It was only when the Texan tapped the suited mercenary on the shoulder that Ashley realised he had been speaking and was in the room.

"I said, are ya alright there?"

The Pyro merely looked at him and shrugged, putting the lighter down to one side and gesturing to the near-empty room, then to their asbestos suit before finally leaning backwards and lying down on the bed with a sound not unlike a muffled sigh.

Dell looked thoughtfully at this, then nodded and left, closing the door behind him.

###

"I thought I would find you here, bushman."

If Jack noticed Gabriel, he didn't show it, continuing to look down his scope at the narrow path that led to the base. The pair was hidden away in a cave in the mountains, accessible via a path from near the base's entrance. The Sniper hadn't moved from this spot in hours and even with the sound of the uncloaking Spy, his words and the unmistakable smoke from his cigarette, that didn't seem to change.

"...You do know that we have equipment to alert us to any incoming threats, do you not?"

Still no response, the Australian lowering his scope for but a moment to sample the cold mug of coffee by his side before returning his gaze to the path, scanning across for any movement. It was only as the Frenchman considered turning around and leaving that the sharpshooter spoke.

"An' you of all people should know how easy those things are to trick, Spy."

Gabriel shrugged, dropping his cigarette to the ground and crushing it underfoot.

"Do as you wish, bushman. Just remember, you do not 'ave to prove your worth to us...and there is a bed for you back at the base."

With that he cloaked and walked away, footsteps fading away into the night.

###

Deep within the bowels of the base, in a room lit only by a single flickering bulb, two men lay slumped against the walls, chairs long since toppled and forgotten. Jane's hand lowered to the ground, dropping the empty bottle and allowing it to roll to a gentle halt alongside it's other consumed brethren. Ewan gulped down a final swig before wiping his mouth and placing his down firmly by his side, the small amount of alcohol still left swishing around before settling.

"An' I tell ya man, I 'ad their spawn door all covere' in traps. They stepped oot, and KABLOOIE, they're all bloodeh dead, haha..."

The Demoman wiped a tear from his eye before raising his bottle up and attempting to determine if there was anything left in it, something made difficult by the hiccups and blurred vision.

"You're good son, real good...maybe even the best. But..."

The Soldier paused, attempting to get up to get another drink only to fall back down against the wall. With a sigh he removed his helmet and stared off into the distance. Before long both men, drunk and in like-minded company were staring into their sorrows, the laughter forgotten, aware that no liquor could ease their pains.

###

It was by chance that Grigori and Isaac bumped into each other. The former was returning from the kitchen, a stacked plate of sandviches in his hand whilst the latter was running about the base, crates and toolboxes piled atop each other. They both fell to the ground with a startled cry and an almighty crash.

A single pair of eyes tracked the lovingly-made food fall to the filthy ground, forever ruined. A single pair of eyes watched as the carriers fell to the floor, spilling their delicate contents to the ground, where they shattered.

In an instant both men were up, rage burning in their eyes. Perhaps it was just the sum of worries and fear since moving to this base. Maybe it was the situation in general getting the best of both of them at last. Or it could have just been that they needed an excuse to vent their frustrations. Whatever the reason, the minor accident quickly lead to an exchange of blows.

The Heavy roared and charged like a raging rhino, as the former-RED Engineer merely sidestepped and span into a powerful backfist with his mechanical fist, pounding the Russian on the back. A cry, more of annoyance than pain and the Texan suddenly found himself flying through the air and into a wall.

Isaac slowly got to his feet, a crack in the wall behind him as dust fell to the ground. Grigori merely stood there, fists raised and ready for the oncoming assault...

###

Both men winced as Nils angrily paced across the infirmary, collecting and sorting his instruments, spewing vile curses at both in his native German as the rest of the team merely stood watching. The Texan and Russian at least had the sense to look sheepishly sorry from their respective beds. The pair were quickly released, shaking one another's hands, apologising to each other and the rest of the team before darting off, avoiding the other mercenaries gazes.

This was hardly a one-off incident, the whole team knew it. Everyone was tense and more confrontational as of late, but it wasn't until the next day that a solution was found.

"Mmph, mmph mph mmm hudda hudda huh! Huddah...mrsph!"

The Pyro, who had as of late been rarely seen and had mostly seemed depressed, appeared to have regained their fire and was gesturing wildly to anyone who would notice. The team exchanged glances and all turned to the two Engineers for clarification. Dell frowned whilst Isaac looked thoughtful. Eventually the pair looked at each other and nodded.

"I think Ashley has a point, it's worth a shot, I suppose."

"Yeah, kinda feel stupid I didn't realise it sooner, to be honest..."

Realising that the team's gaze was only growing more intense, Isaac gestured for his former-BLU counterpart to speak.

"Well, we're all stressed out and at each other's throats an' this place, whilst strategically very good, it well..."

Dell looked kinda embarrassed and was quite surprised when he found Kevin completing the thought for him.

"It just ain't home, right?"

Ashley nodded enthusiastically to this as the rest of the team just started at the Scout as if he'd grown a second head. Starting to feel uncomfortable, the runner leapt to defend himself.

"Hey, I mean, I was just thinking that the place seems a little dull, is all, not as if I miss the old BLU bases where we at least had a bit of an atmosphere goin' on or nothin'..."

###

"...I cannot believe we are actually doing this."

Gabriel's facial expression was priceless as he looked on at the old buckets of Mann Co paint and the flaky brushes in disdain. That Jack had already donned an apron and was happily painting away with a toothy grin on his face did nothing to help the Frenchman's mood.

"Ah, shove a cigarette in it mate then grab a brush and lend a hand. Ain't as if we got a hard job here."

Sighing and choosing the least-dirty apron, the Spy daintily selected a brush and helped the Sniper, ignoring the latter's laughter whenever a drop of paint somehow bypassed the apron and landed on his expensive suit.

###

Elsewhere, the rest of the team had gotten into the task with surprising enthusiasm, dropping their other tasks regarding base defences and battle plans instantly to help. With a new goal and everyone involved in something together, the place certainly brightened up just by attitude alone. It didn't matter whether you were painting, re-wiring the lighting, decorating your own room with personal items or just making snacks for everyone...it was a team effort.

In what seemed like no time at all, the dull base, whilst certainly not a work of art, felt a lot nicer to be in. Better lighting, a splash of colour, a few well-placed mirrors, better seating, comfier beds and an old-fashioned fireplace placed in an assembled common room of sorts to accompany the standard central heating went a long way. Indeed, even though everyone had now reverted to general maintenance and planning and otherwise preparing for future battles...everyone found an excuse to let the work wait for a few hours each day and come to the common room to relax together.

There was still stress, there was still tension, there was still some conflict between them...but on the whole, it felt right somehow. This place was no longer some base they had stolen, no longer some place to defend, to worry, to store weapons. These people were no longer mere allies, if they ever even had been.

Team Fortress was a _family_, and every family needs a **home**.


	32. Operation: Triple S

**Author's notes:** Many apologies for the long wait! Again, university has been eating into a lot of my time, as has various events and attempting to make a fresh start. I've been slaving over this chapter almost non-stop all day today, so chances are there's plenty of errors. I could wait for my beta to get time and lend me a hand but really, you guys have been waiting long enough as it is, so let's put this up and fix it later.  
>Enjoy this super-long almost 10,000 word long chapter!<p>

_Edit:_ some corrections made and some slight change regarding the radio/mic mechanics. Thanks to GothicCheshire as always, I swear I wouldn't be this far without her aid ^_^;

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter 32: Operation Triple S<strong>_

Jack tried to keep his hands steady as he focused his sight through his scope, slowly trailing his rifle from one end of the facility to the other before muttering the go-ahead into his radio. Taking a deep breath, the Sniper tried his best to get comfortable in his position, aware that he needed to be on top form for this mission to succeed. It was best not to think about how insane it was or how the rest of the team were doing on their respective operations, that sort of thinking would quickly lead to despair and reduced performance.

So instead he kept position and remained vigilant, hoping that Scout and Spy didn't cock anything up. Naturally, no sooner than the prayer passed through his mind, did chaos ensue in the form of alarms and loud gunfire.

"...piss."

No change to his expression, the Sniper brought his weapon to bear as enemy soldiers started rushing from one side of the base to the other.

BOOM. The sound of single shot piercing the air, the clatter of a spent round hitting the floor, the well-practiced motion of replacing the round, and drawing the bolt back.

BOOM. Efficiency. BOOM. Precision. BOOM. Confusion. BOOM. Fear.

Shot after shot flying through skulls over great distance, a morbidly beautiful scene of round after round perfectly sailing over air and wind, punching through grey matter and strewing about a mess of flesh to the concrete below.

"Boom...headshot."

###

Gabriel cautiously peered around the corner, pressed tightly to the wall, before silently switching over to the wall across the gap and continuing to slink down the hallway, tranquilliser gun in hand. He'd already disabled the basic security systems in this part of the facility and they were few people about in this restricted area to note his movements. Whilst this reduced chances of detection somewhat, it made disguises somewhat useless as any individuals wandering around here, with clearance or otherwise, would be questioned. In theory, if the operation went as it should, there should essentially be nobody here; all pre-occupied with...other matters.

Of course, that did rely on the damn boy actually doing his job properly, something that seemed to only occur every other blue moon. Indeed, this whole plan was ridiculous, even if the Frenchman himself had been a major force in the planning process and had acquired most of the necessary information. That he had been paired with the Scout and Sniper for his mission made sense on paper but was something he was seriously starting to question as he went deeper and deeper through the dimly-lit corridors, wary for the slightest bit of noise, ready to cloak at any moment.

"Operation Triple S", as the Pyro had so creatively called it, was but one of three operations currently being executed in parallel by Team Fortress to disrupt the Administrator's efforts, gain information and potentially place themselves in a position to launch a full-scale attack in the future. This particular facility was known to house experimental technology and held data concerning the Administrator's HQ. It was the Spy's job to infiltrate the restricted area, preferably without being discovered, retrieve anything of use and sabotage the base's core systems.

The gentlest of humming, only audible because of the dead silence around him, made the Spy mentally curse and cloak on the spot, slowly searching for the source of the noise. Further down the hallway, strange sensors embedded in the wall searched, still active despite the more basic security systems being disabled. Wary that they may have thermal imaging or otherwise be able to see through his cloak, Gabriel searched for another way to advance, dearly hoping that a certain hyperactive Bostonian was doing his part of the mission properly...

###

Kevin felt his heart racing and pounding as his feet beat down on the cold floor below him, panting as bullets whizzed by, taking chips out of the concrete walls. Coming to a crossroads, he turned the corner only to find himself facing a small group of officers, who immediately spotted him and went for their weapons. Doubling back on himself and making sure he didn't run into the _other group_ already chasing him, the runner darted off, drawing his pistol and firing a few shots behind him, not bothering to look if any hit.

A door ahead. A normal person would have slowed down to open it, or maybe check whether it was locked before running through it. Perhaps someone like the Heavy, confident in their size and strength, would tackle through it. The Scout was neither and so, with a cocky grin, he leapt through the air and attempted to kick the door down.

A loud thud and a yelp of pain, followed by a smaller thud and a grunt of annoyance as the young mercenary impacted the steel door and fell onto his rear. The sound of running footsteps approaching quickly got him back to his feet and off again. Dashing down a long hallway, he noted that more and more bullets were starting to tear through the ground around him and a few even zipped dangerously close to his ears.

Unfortunately, he also noted that a small group of soldiers wielding machine guns who looked most displeased with his behaviour were blocking the way. Oddly enough, this didn't faze Kevin, who merely laughed and drew out his modified Force-A-Nature. An extra burst of speed, gun levelled at the nearest enemy, he took off.

Adrenaline burning, blood pumping, heart thumping, he felt that all too familiar sensation of time slowing as loud bangs erupted in front of him. Bullet after bullet missed, the enemy not expecting the speed increase or him to jump. Those few that came too close were dodged effortless as the Scout jumped again, now soaring high above the soldiers, hat grazing the roof, weapon aimed down at the nearest grunt.

There was no time to react. Two powerful blasts, a spew of dangerous shrapnel, the weapon buckling in the mercenary's hands. Buckshot ripped and tore through weapons, armour and flesh alike, impacting the ground and blasting it into a flurry of dust and concrete chips. A perfect landing behind them, dust and blood floating in the air as the soldier falls to his knees, the sound of two shells landing on the floor and rolling to a halt.

The clak-clak as two more shells are loaded, as the men slowly turn, the lucky blown apart at point-blank range before they can even face the intruder. The less lucky see the confident grin of a boy in blue before they too die, bodies torn apart to be tripped upon in the cloud of dust by their allies a few seconds later.

But to the Scout, a few seconds is an eternity, for he is already gone, whooping and yelling, drawing all the attention he can.

###

Jack curses as more and more of the enemy, panicking and confused, attempt to enter the main block of buildings and chase after the Scout. Sure the plan called for a diversion, but ideally the twitchy lil' bugger was supposed to get a little further in and maybe steal a few things of value himself from the core part of the facility before unleashing all hell.

There was only so fast he could kill the rapidly-growing numbers of enemies and some of the more intelligent ones had already seemed to get a rough idea of direction and had found appropriate cover. All it would take was an officer or two managing to get stuff under better control over there and they would start to hunt him down too. Fortunately, the vast majority did seem more pre-occupied with the intruder already on base and trying to get groups together.

Likewise, it seemed the Spy had taken out communications properly, none of the few vehicles he had seen appeared to have come from off-base yet and nobody had even given the restricted area of the base a second glance. Relaying all he had seen to his fellow team mates for this operation, the Sniper turned his gaze exclusively to officers and other higher-ups, sowing further confusion and fear amongst the ranks.

Noting that a lone vehicle had left the base and was heading in his direction, the Australian lined up his sights, waiting for the opportune moment. Whether they were searching for him or going off-base for help, neither mattered, their fate would end the same. Thinking furiously, he tried to gauge the wind and the SUV's velocity as best he can before finally taking the shot.

The shot was barely heard over the commotion and gunfire at the base, but the results themselves could be clearly seen. The windshield shattered and the driver's head was turned into a mess on the seating and steering wheel, the car screeching and flipping over onto its side, screeching as it skidded across the road before coming to a halt.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Jack lowered his rifle for a moment, pausing to let his heartbeat slow down a little before returning to picking off soldiers from afar. However, the Sniper never got that far, his heart instead starting to pound away as gunfire was sprayed in his general direction. None of it was close enough to his hiding spot for him to have been noticed, but it appeared that at least one person in the SUV had survived the crash and judging from the yells off to one side, another group on foot away from the main base had realised there was a sniper in this area.

Reloading his rifle, the Australian slung it across his back, adjusted his hat and slowly rose to a low crouch, crossbow in hand, a bolt already loaded, string taught. Stealthily leaving his nest behind to find a new vantage point for closer range combat, a single sentence was uttered to let his fellow operatives know of his situation:

"You're on ya own for a while, mates."

###

Gabriel did not respond to that, maintaining silence. Whilst he was fairly certain that the enemy's ability to intercept and receive radio transmissions had been destroyed, he didn't want to risk something as simple as a microphone picking up his response. While there was a button to silently transmit a click of acknowledgement, he simply didn't bother, figuring that the bushman probably wouldn't have heard it even if he had sent a click.

Unable to find an alternate route or a way to disable whatever devices had been in the wall, he'd been forced to quickly sneak by them whilst cloaked. No alarms had sounded thus far, but he didn't want to take any more chances. He didn't, however, expect the sentry turret, painted a dull grey, to be waiting for him around the next corner.

For a moment, still cloaked through the power of the Omniwatch, he was startled, the beeps and whirs reminding him of the dread modified sentries the RED Engineer had used to great effect at the final battle at Teufort. Reminding himself that those were specially modified by Isaac to detect cloaked enemies and that this was just some knockoff version of the level 2 sentry that TF Industries had made, he took another step forward.

And then was forced to dive behind a corner as a loud beep followed by a hail of bullets ensued. Between what bullets had managed to graze him and his awkward landing, the Spy was in some amount of pain and was certain that if he was not fast he'd been in for a lot more. No major alarms had started ringing, but surely, even if they hadn't rigged the firing of any sentries to trigger the main alarm, it would notify someone, who'd be sure to investigate.

If worst came to worst, activating the Dead Ringer function would probably confuse the sentry at least briefly and allow him past, but it would be a large risk. A sentry going off with seemingly nobody nearby once could just be a minor technical glitch. Going off twice however, would definitely prompt a search, even with Scout distracting the bulk of the enemy.

If there was such a thing as gods, they were smiling on Gabriel that day, for the sound of running footsteps behind him gave way to the sight of what appeared to be one of the base's engineers, already talking into a short-range communications device and with a pistol in hand.

"I'm investigating it right now, sir, we have had a few misfires before since testing these modifications and in all honesty the modified turrets aren't really ready to be...I'm aware of the orders from Command, sir."

The military engineer went straight past the cloaked Spy and slowly approached the turret. The machine's movements changed briefly as it looked upon this new target, before assigning it as an ally and returning to its sweep. The Spy thought carefully for a few moments. This man was likely well-trained enough that taking him head-on or attempting to sneak by with the Dead Ringer would just result in an alert actually being raised.

"Well, it looks like there's a minor error with the recognition system, it might accidentally target some members of restricted-area staff but those with access cards for this level like myself-"

Sudden clarity hit Gabriel as the engineer was talking and tinkering with the turret. A dangerous move that would risk injury, and temporarily increase security, but could allow him clear sailing past that. Still utilising the standard Inviswatch and the Cloak and Dagger elements of the Omniwatch, he stepped out from around the corner...

A beep, a spray of bullets, a splattering of blood on the floor. The body fell over, draping itself onto the turret as an agitated voice cried out for a report and an invisible mercenary ran past the scene, desperately getting out of range.

###

Kevin was tempted to say some joke about how the damn Aussie was normally at the back doing his own thing and leaving them alone to get real work done anyway, but for once decided that perhaps paying attention to the whole "not dying" thing was more important than being annoying to the older man. Considering that he'd by this point left a lot of bodies behind him, and judging by the explosions, the enemy was now mad enough at him to start using grenades in their own building and risk killing their own men or destroying their own crap, it was a good decision.

Still, if they were gonna bring explosives into this...the more the merrier, right?

Indeed, between running around, killing people and generally being an amazingly handsome daredevil any girl would have to be mad not to fall in love with, he'd also been planting explosive charges behind him. It was just about waiting for the right moment, so he could cause as much damage as possible, and maybe start looting the place.

Caught up in his own inflated ego and attempting to multitask dodging, running, and actually **thinking** all at once, the Scout didn't notice when the twisting passages eventually opened up into a large open room with many doors and corridors branching out.

What he **did** notice, however, was that there were a **lot** of enemies in here with their guns aimed at him and somebody had actually set up several mounted miniguns and cover to hide behind. Coming to an abrupt halt, the runner took all this in and slowly raised his hands into the air, turning to face whichever idiot it was that was barking orders at him. Not even caring about the contents of the angry speech or the amount of weaponry currently levelled at him and just begging for an excuse to be fired, his eyes wandered about the room, suddenly locking in on an oddly attractive air vent.

Yawning exaggeratedly and causing the commander to pause in his yelling, the Scout reached for the detonation button and pressed it, making sure to give everyone a piece of his mind with his other hand.

A string of explosions shook the ground as one by one the charges detonated, spiralling around the base and getting closer and closer, blasting dust in before the final one covered the room in smoke. A few of the more aware troops had fired off at the intruder before the final detonation but they were too late, he had already ran away from where he had been standing and under the cover of smoke and dust, he entered the air vent.

Let those knuckleheads follow him now!

###

The one survivor from the SUV crash had been injured and Jack had been able to deal with him easy enough. The real problem was with the group who had been away from the base at the start of this mess. He didn't think they'd been able to contact the outside world either, but they'd entered this situation expecting trouble and had kept their heads much better, likely because their leader was alive and had kept them together. They were alert, watched each other's backs, and whilst not as good hunters as himself, they were fairly stealthy and had picked up on the fact that they were being watched.

He'd have already lodged either a bullet or a bolt in them, but that would have quickly given away his position and he had yet to find a good spot to engage them. The Sniper had erased his tracks as best he could and was generally covering himself well, traversing the trees and long grass here on the edge of the base, always several steps ahead of his prey and waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

The moment came with a series of explosions rumbling through several buildings at the main facility. The group were startled and had their attention elsewhere for but a moment, but that moment was all he needed.

A pull of the trigger, a quiet twang of the string, the whistle of a bolt through the air before it lodged itself in the unprotected neck of the soldier who'd looked towards the base first. Hearing their comrade gurgling on his way to a painful death, they turned towards him and the next nearest soldier likewise got a bolt to the throat for his trouble.

Only their leader was able to keep his sense together long enough to determine a rough direction the shots had come from, but the Australian was already on the move again, finding a new place to hide, ignoring the explosions and the painful spasms as the two soldiers died, their comrades distraught. But they moved on in pursuance of vengeance, knowing full-well that with no medic in their group and such projectiles lodged there, their fallen members had no chance of recovery.

Jack didn't like those last two kills, they weren't as clean and efficient as he'd like, but with the armour and helmets he was doubtful he could get quick kills through attacking those areas. His bolts would likely penetrate the armour, but not do sufficient damage to kill or even drop the body in a single shot. His rifle was enough for the job, but it would give away his position much easier and was harder to use at such close range.

No, hiding in whatever cover he could find, be it natural or wrecked military equipment, and slowly cutting down their numbers would have to suffice.

###

Coming to a halt in the office room, the investigation unit turned to face their analyst, who was looking at his sensor display intently. Finally he shook his head and turned to his commander.

"Sorry ma'am, definitely nobody using SpyTech cloaking devices in the area, looks like this tragic accident was just that: an accident."

The commander of this small, but elite group, sighed, face frowning as she took one last glance around the room, gaze settling on a large cardboard box lying in the corner.

"Indeed, it looks like there was no intruder to the restricted area after all and with the entrances all locked down, I suppose we had best aid the incompetent regulars outside and in the main complex."

The other troops in the squad left the room at this, but she alone waited, gun still drawn and ready.

"After all, it's not as if anyone could sneak in this far through _other means_!"

At that, the troops turned back to see their commander open fire on the cardboard box, tearing holes through it. Slowly approaching it, she kept her weapon level, a look of triumph on her face. One that quickly turned to disgust upon opening the box and finding nothing but shredded papers and folders inside.

Most looked at their commander's behaviour then looked at each other and shrugged. Only one nodded and walked out side-by-side with the commander, calling back to Command and stating that there had been no breach into the restricted area. It was a stressful day and he couldn't fault the commander for being so paranoid and making sure there was definitely no breach. But still...what self-respecting infiltrator would hide in a cardboard box?

At that moment Gabriel was trembling in the _other_ cardboard box in the room, conveniently hidden behind the open door and quietly praising the powers that be that he hadn't chosen the box that was currently more a pile of shredded paper and cardboard than a storage unit. The Frenchman was longing to light a cigarette and calm his nerves a little but knew that to do so would be suicidal and as such, hadn't brought any with him.

All the same, that had come far too close. It was just fortunate the investigating unit hadn't thought to bring a thermal or x-ray scanner instead of one that just detected cloaking device usage. Still, that he'd been reduced to hiding in a cardboard box in one of the researcher's offices whilst in the underground levels of the restricted area was a mark of shame that he'd ensure nobody ever found about. Ever.

###

The ventilation system was cramped and dark but Kevin had no issues scurrying about the system with his small, lean frame. It seemed the earlier explosions had caved in a good few routes and even without his presence directly getting attention, things were generally chaotic below him, easily masking his clanking movements. He could only hope that he'd bought enough time for Spy to get whatever exactly it was they were hiding away and that Sniper hadn't gone and gotten himself killed.

As for himself...

The Scout peered through a grate into an empty room that looked promising. Pulling out his trusty bat and with a little "bonk!" he couldn't resist throwing in, the boy dropped into the empty room, noting the large size, machines everywhere and the single locked steel door preventing access from the outside. Something about that door looked familiar...

Shrugging it off, the Bostonian took to destroying as much stuff in the room as possible, figuring that all this hi-tech junk was probably important for something or other. He perhaps found smashing everything a little too much fun and really, if someone else on the team were here, they'd argue that breaking some of the legs off the tables wasn't really necessary, but hey, better to be carried away with your work than not do it properly at all, right?

Hearing noises outside the room brought him out of his happy state and instead caused panic as muffled voices said something or other he couldn't make out. Well-aware that they likely heard him and that someone may have the key or code or whatever to enter the room or that they could just blow the door up, Kevin smacked one last monitor with his bat, picked up a bunch of folders that looked vaguely important, tossed them in his bag and just as he was about to see if he could climb back into the vent, a little something caught his eye, lying out in the open on one of the tables he hadn't turned his destructive impulses towards yet.

Picking up what appeared to be some prototype grenade; the boy jumped up and squeezed back into the vent just as the door was blown open. Pulling the pin, the Scout rolled the grenade out into the room and not caring for noise or the pain, crawled away from there as fast as his hands and knees could take him.

The explosion produced a lot more light than it seemed it should have and the light seemed to linger longer than it should have. There were screams and then...a fwooshing noise? After that, silence, asides from the vent shaking a little. He ignored it and pressed on, darting around a corner, groping around as he got further away and was plunged into darkness.

Or rather, was in darkness until he made another turn in the ventilation system and found light pouring in from another exit ahead of him. So eager was he to get away again, he didn't notice the creaking and groaning as he darted for the exit, or the fact that the vent system was still shaking a little. The sound of something collapsing behind him did alert him, but by that time it was too late and the metal beneath him gave way...

###

The target moved at the last moment, rising up out of his crouch and so the bolt instead impacted his chest, punching through the padding and wounding him. A cry of pain and a stream of random fire in Jack's direction let him know that his cover was blown.

There were only three of them left, their leader, the one he'd just injured and one supporting the injured one. The leader was already charging forwards, trying to spot the Sniper whilst the two at the back fired wildly into the grass and trees, hoping to connect with their unseen attacker. The Australian rolled out of the way, having already loaded another bolt. Coming to a halt on his stomach once more, he took a single shot to the leader's knee, causing him to trip and fall.

Alas, he didn't get the chance for another shot. The injured one, leaning on his healthy companion for support had spotted him and was firing. The Sniper had no choice but to get up to his feet and hide behind what looked like the wreckage of some strange tank, switching out the crossbow for his dual revolvers. Biting back the urge to grumble under his breath about the situation, instead he popped out, noted that their leader had vanished since he'd darted for cover and instead fired off a pair of shots at the rear pair.

One shot pinged off the uninjured one's helmet, the round unable to do more than dent the metal, but that was enough. The force of the blow disorientated the solider, causing him to stagger away slightly. This was enough for the injured one, crossbow bolt still in his chest, who was leaning on his comrade for support, to fall to the ground, his leaning post suddenly out of position. He fell on his front, lodging the bolt further in, but this was not what finished him.

His helmet had not been properly secured, and so with his fall, rolled off, leaving his head open for a shot to be punched straight through his skull with the second shot. With such an opportunity, Jack didn't waste it, and sure enough, the fallen soldier was slain, bringing the enemy's numbers down to two.

Darting back behind cover before either could react and noting that the leader was still nowhere in sight, decided to retreat further, bullets pinging off the wreckage as he did so. The leader seemed to be very aware of his position, and with him out of sight...well, even with his movement impeded by that crossbow bolt in his leg, it was still possible for him to sneak up on the Sniper or simply get a better position.

Fortunately it seemed that he wasn't the only one uncertain of where the commander of the group had gone. Pressing himself up to the tree he was hiding behind, he peered out and noticed the remaining grunt sneaking to his former hiding place, machine gun brought to bear. With a sudden motion the soldier darted around the wreckage and fired, not aware of the Australian's new location. A moment of confusion, the Sniper steps out once more, moving from tree to tree with each shot.

BANG. One shot to the leg. BANG. One shot to the chest, he falls to one knee. BANG BANG. One shot to each arm, he drops his weapon. BANG. A shot grazes his face, drawing blood. BANG BANG. A final pair of shots, one bullet from each gun, and two holes are made into his neck, blood oozing out as his body hits the soil with a thump.

One more down, one to go.

It is at this point, enraged, that the group's commander snaps the bolt from his knee and charges from his hiding place to the side, combat knife in hand, screaming a battle cry for his fallen men.

###

He had found it. It had taken a lot of skill and all of his years of mastery as a Spy to pull it off, but he had finally entered the most secure room in the whole base, several levels into the restricted area and three floors underground, all without detection or triggering any automated alarms. Technology decades ahead of anything seen even at the bases of RED and BLU littered the room, from computers with no visible tape drives and holographic displays to powered armour and some sort of large ray gun on a raised pedestal that Gabriel was uncertain even the Heavy could lift.

But none of those, as interesting as they may be, where quite why he was here. After investigation he'd been able to determine that TF Industries was able to store its most secret data in a highly compressed and portable form that could contain potentially hundreds of thousands of vital documents and more in a device that could fit in the average pocket. Indeed, searching the computers found many of such pen-sized drives plugged in. Naturally, after pocketing all he could find and applying sappers to the machines and anything that looked large and dangerous in the immediate vicinity, he was free to explore a little more.

Going deeper into the room he found something that definitely piqued his interest. Contained by some sort of force-field, was a simple glowing orb. Consulting the controls near it and reading the text on display on the terminal, the infiltrator had to admit that he had no idea what exactly it was and that the only two he knew who might have a clue where too far away for him to reach from here, deep underground.

Still, the Spy was no fool, and he could understand enough to gather that whatever this strange artefact was, it was of great value and wasn't directly dangerous, the field seemed to just be there to analyse it and protect it from harm. It was small enough to be carried and no doubt would be of interest to the two Engineers once he got back to their base...no, to their _home_ safe.

Carefully playing with the controls, wary that a wrong move could inadvertently alert the enemy to his position, he was able to turn off the sensors and lower the force-field. Stretching his hand out slowly and bracing himself, he touched the glowing orb as it pulsated slightly, and then returned to its steady glow. He touched it.

Nothing happened.

Fingers wrapping around it, he grasped it firmly and plucked it, the heavenly white light calming him, the orb somehow feeling both pleasantly warm and cool to the touch. Smiling at a job well done, he turned to leave the facility and go to a higher level so he could contact his colleagues. Knowing that he would likely have an easy time escaping now he'd gotten this far and destroyed all security systems along the way he'd found, Gabriel was eager to gloat about his flawless execution of the operation.

Fate is not without a sense of humour and so it was it at this point the alarms all across the restricted area were set off.

"...merde."

###

Scout fell painfully into the room below, shrapnel from the wrecked shaft and ceiling digging into his legs. Wincing in pain, he got up and dusted himself off, cursing under his breath as he became aware that he would not be able to run too well like this. Fortunately, as he swept his eyes across the room, it was deserted of people apart from a single scientist in a corner cowering.

Sweeping his eyes to the rest of the room, he noticed machinery, computers, some large toolboxes and most importantly, a garage door, by which stood several vehicles. As much as Kevin would love to take the miniature tank stationed there, he had to admit that he had no idea how to drive that thing and he doubted either of his teammates or the blubbering idiot in the corner there knew how to either.

"Jeez, what was that guy's problem anyway, all hidin' in that corner just because there'd been explosions and death and the ceiling collapsed in? Freaking wuss. The armoured SUV might be alright but uh...it's not that I don't know how to drive stick, it's just that I don't _want_ to. Yeah, manual transmission sucks ass. Ooh, _hello_!"

The Scout's thought process hopped from the scientist to the SUV and finally to a certain polished, black motorcycle which looked both sleek and futuristic, even with that silly sidecar attached. Something about it was alluring, like this motorbike was a young handsome model that knew how to fly by and didn't give a damn about what anybody thought about it. That it also included machine guns in the front and a small turret in the sidecar helped. It was practically screaming "let me be yours" and "I'm your getaway vehicle" at him.

"Hey, frenchie, you done yet?"

No response. Whether it was that the Spy was just being an asshole, couldn't reply right now or was actually dead was impossible to tell. As much as the two clashed, if he was being truly honest with himself, Kevin would admit that he really was hoping that Gabriel was just doing silent Spy stuff and that the French bastard hadn't run into any trouble. That would suck.

Suddenly, he heard it: a click. Confirmation. Whatever situation the Spy was in, he couldn't talk but was at least well enough to press the button on his microphone that sent a quiet click to his earpiece. Such clicks were used as code between the mercenaries. The second click confirmed it: the message had been received and the answer was a clear "no".

Satisfied that Gabriel hadn't gotten his fancy ass killed yet, he casually strolled over to where the scientist was still cowering, hands above his head. The Scout drew his pistol, pointing it at the man and cleared his throat.

"Hey you. Yeah you! Y'know where the keys to that bike are? How about opening those doors for me too?"

The scientist, clearly afraid, having seen far too much excitement for today already, complied easily, handing the keys over and standing by the button to open the garage doors.

"Um...sir? That vehicle is the only model of its kind and uh..."

The runner's glare as he half-limped to the bike and climbed on to it almost made the man lose his nerve, but he continued on.

"...well, if you're going to use it, please be aware that whilst it is a military vehicle, the armoured windscreen and sidecar canopy can only withstand so much and we've not fixed all the bugs with some of the f-features yet..."

"Oh yeah? Such as?"

"Errr...the sidecar turret and temporary high-acceleration turbo modes have been a bit problematic in the p-past and..."

"Turbo mode? Oh yeah, I love the sound of that. I've heard enough egghead, open the door for me, if you don't want your big brain all over the walls and floor!"

With a sigh and mentally asking himself why he even bothered, but still acting out of self-preservation, the scientist complied, activating the button and returning to his hiding spot, hoping that his superiors would never find out about this.

As the Scout revved the engine, preparing to speed out and spread more chaos, he received the Spy's somewhat strained response:

"Oui, _boy_, I am done. Please give me but a few minutes to deal with things here and I shall be ready to depart. I trust you can _sit still_ that long?"

Something had gotten the spook stressed, but all the same, his mocking tone was clearly there, so whatever the situation was, it couldn't have been too serious.

"Not a chance, you backstabbing asshole."

With that final remark, the engine roared and Kevin left the main building behind...

He was not expecting to see two tanks and a few light assault vehicles waiting for him.

"...well, fuck me."

###

The roar of anguish from the remaining soldier alerted Jack to his presence, causing him to swiftly turn around to face him and unload his remaining ammo into the charging foe. One bullet merely grazed his shoulder, another impacted his chest and the final one hit him dead in his left arm.

Realising he was out of bullets and without enough time to reload both revolvers, his enemy still charging, knife held in his right hand, the Sniper holstered his revolvers and drew his kukri, sidestepping the charge and bringing the large blade up to slice through his chest. The commander was able to recover from his missed charge and parried with his combat knife, teeth bared.

His left arm may have been injured, but that didn't mean it was useless. A quick punch to the Australian's gut took Jack off guard, allowing the solider to bring his knife up for a slash to his face. The Sniper was only just able to step back in time, the blade just barely cutting him and reopening an old wound. A strange sense of deja vu almost made him chuckle at it all, but instead he pressed back, kicking the foe in his wounded knee to bring him down and followed it up with a powerful two-handed overhead chop.

The now-deceased group's leader pushed himself back at the last moment, the kukri tearing through the front of his armour rather than through his flesh. Raising his knife and knocking the Sniper away, he got to his feet and leapt back, as Jack too took a step back and readied himself.

"You...you're...pretty good. You've been in a knife fight or two before haven't you?"

The Australian chuckled, bringing his kukri forwards so that it was clearly visible even as his other hand was reaching behind his back.

"...you could say that, mate, if this was a knife fight. That dinky lil' thing ya got there is some right shocking business."

And with that the enraged soldier charged, military issued combat knife ready to tear through the mercenary's carcass. What he hadn't expected was for his opponent to not charge or even block, but to instead pull a jar from behind his back and throw it at him with a cry of "Jarate!"

The commander was forced to stop his charged and covered his face with his right arm, lest any glass shards or the liquid inside the jar reach his eyes. It was only then as he was soaked and dripping did he slowly lower his arm and the stench reached his nostrils. With that stench and the pain of bleeding came sudden clarity of what exactly had been thrown on him.

Distracted and distraught and disgusted beyond measure, he simply stood there even as his foe charged forwards...

"Now _this_? **This** is a _knife_!"

With those words the kukri was buried deeply into the soldier's torso. Jack didn't know why he did it, but as he stood there, holding the blade in place, he looked into his enemy's eyes. Watched as the combination of injuries until now and this final blow finally drained the spark of life from him. Only when that spark was gone and the body limp did the Sniper wrench his blade from the corpse and let it fall onto the ground.

Wiping the blood off the weapon on the grass and sheathing it, he removed his hat for a moment to mark the passage of those he had killed so far, before returning to retrieve his crossbow and get back to his vantage point so he could return his gaze to the battle.

###

Gabriel had not been having a good time. Whilst enough of the soldiers were busy elsewhere (or simply couldn't gain access to this building without proper clearance) so that he didn't have to worry about them, there were still several security systems he'd not been able to disable. In addition to the more obvious turrets out in the open, it turned out some corridors had smaller concealed guns in the walls. Moreover, there were still a few members of staff who, whilst not soldiers themselves, had at least been given combat training so that they weren't just helpless researchers and scientists.

Nope, none of that "helpless cowering in fear" nonsense in the restricted areas, everyone and everything here was the best of the best. Didn't exactly make the Spy's job any easier, but he did note that it was fitting that a facility of the best should be compromised by himself, of all people. Between his own stealth, cloak, the Dead Ringer's feigned death, and the tranquillizer gun, he hadn't really had any problems.

Unfortunately, once he'd returned to the ground floor, he'd ran into someone he hoped he'd escaped earlier, namely the commander of the team that was investigation the security breach earlier. Considering her paranoia, he doubted he could simply sneak past her with any of her cloak functions and she wore enough armour that getting her with the tranquilliser darts would be difficult at best. That the Scout was also harassing him over radio wasn't helping, either.

It was somewhat fortunate that at least they weren't in one of the overly narrow corridors that seemed to litter the building. This area was wide, had depressions in the walls to use as cover and had enough random junk strewn about to prevent his foe from just charging straight to him. Even so, he was at the clear disadvantage, he had no armour, no backup he could rely on and none of his weapons came close to the firepower of her machine gun.

Drawing his Ambassador as he crouched behind a shipping crate, the Frenchman decided to turn on the charm and attempt the diplomatic approach first.

"Please, ma cherie! Zhere is no reason for us to fight, come let us escape together and I can show you ze world. What do you say, m_ademoiselle_?"

Angry yelling and a burst of bullets in his direction was the commander's only response. Gabriel sighed. In all honesty, he really didn't think it would have worked, but it would have been nice. Fortunately, just because he was at a disadvantage didn't mean that he was helpless.

With a surprising level of agility he leapt from out of cover, firing off three shots in mid-flight before rolling into one of the depressions in the wall. One bullet missed, but the other two thudded against her padding. Again, a stream of bullets tore through the column of wall protecting the Spy, causing chips to go flying everywhere.

Knowing that the column wouldn't hold and that bullets were already getting through, he quickly loaded another three bullets into his weapon and cloaked away, the tell-tale noise masked by the gunfire. Sneaking back behind the metal shipping crate, which seemed to absorb the bullets a little better, Spy uncloaked and popped up, taking her by surprise and managing to unload all six shots into her body before he ducked back down again.

It would be difficult and require a good bit of ammo but he'd clearly gotten her through her armour with those shots and had drawn blood. Perhaps he could wear her down...?

Clunk!

Gabriel looked in time to notice the grenade she had tossed come to a perfect rolling halt by his side. Without time for thinking or profanity, he prepared the Dead Ringer, the cloak absorbing most of the damage of the blast and generating fake gibs to temporarily fool the commander as he made a run for it.

Alas, she seemed to know. Whether she heard the footsteps, was just really paranoid or was aware that he'd already cloaked earlier and connected the dots...either way, she didn't let her guard down and sprayed machine gun fire in every direction, hoping to clip the infiltrator. Those few that hit were thankfully negated by the cloak somewhat before it ran out and he was forced to switch to the standard cloak.

It still hurt though, and even if it hadn't been fatal or too damaging, some shrapnel from the explosion was still lodged in his body. His bleeding wasn't yet enough to be too noticeable or to cause his cloak to flicker, but all the same, he really had to run. Turning the corner, he stopped for a moment, both for breath and to let his cloak regenerate a little more as uncloaked. Aware that she was probably now chasing after him, he dropped one of the few grenades of his own before running off again, not even bothering to cloak.

Sure enough, the commander turned the corner, saw the grenade and then dove back for cover, not even able to take a single shot at the fleeing Spy. The grenade detonated, releasing a cloud of smoke, forcing the soldier to cough and obscuring her vision as she tried to pursue. Wincing and trying to keep her aim steady, she fired, only to miss her prey considerably.

Walking forwards through the spreading smoke, she didn't see Gabriel cloak immediately before a branching path of corridors and eventually get past the locked doors through simple lock-picking.

"Scout? I am done now."

###

Said Scout was currently somewhat busy with desperately trying not to become a mess on the asphalt. He'd managed to deal with any loitering soldiers on foot by simply mowing through them, firing the front-mounted machine guns or simply using his pistol one-handed, but the vehicles were proving much harder to deal with.

His main advantage was that he was faster than any of them and far more manoeuvrable than his bigger opponents, the tanks especially. Indeed, in many ways it was a familiar situation for Kevin, trying to dodge past his foes and slowly wear them down. The key difference being that on the battlefield on foot he had relatively more firepower. He'd already spent almost all of his explosives back at the main base and one of his grenades had been used to take down a light reconnaissance vehicle that had been getting a little too close in pursuing him.

The bike's machine guns and his pistol did little damage to the remaining pursuers and were less than useless versus the tanks. He figured that his Force-a-nature might be a bit more damaging if he could get close enough, but it couldn't really be used one-handed, let alone one-handed and riding a motorcycle. Fortunately the tanks weren't really too much of an issue at the moment, whoever was driving them seemed somewhat inexperienced with the controls or just didn't want to accidentally hit their allies with a shell. Either way, the slow tanks were lagging way behind and weren't an immediate threat.

Bullets pinged off the bike's frame and Kevin was forced to swerve sharply to avoid the rest of the hail of bullets. Pulling the throttle, the wheels spun madly as he essentially reversed direction, pulling out his nailgun and firing a stream of nails into one of the pursuing vehicle's tires as it passed dangerously close.

Swerving around again, the target vehicle now skidding to a halt, it was child's play to pass by again, this time with the pistol, and simply gun down the occupants of the stationary vehicle. Figuring he could possibly do that again with one of the more armoured attack cars and just toss his last grenade instead, the Scout continued to weave and avoid gunfire whilst drawing out his nailgun again.

Sadly for him, this was when one of the tankmen had finally decided enough was enough and fired a shell at him from the far rear. Whilst the shell missed, instead doing more damage to the armoured carrier on the mercenary's tail he had been thinking of attacking next, the impact still caused damage, flinging the motorcycle into the air and causing the Scout to drop his weapon.

The bike landed with a thud, the suspension straining to reduce the impact as much as possible, but all the same it nearly threw its rider off. Noting that there was still a military SUV with a roof-mounted turret, another small, fast recon vehicle and the two tanks, Kevin started driving to the other end of the base where the restricted area was.

"Hey, Gabriel? Comin' to pick you up now."

"W-wait, you've not dealt with-"

"Oi, Jack? Can I get some freaking support here?"

"On it now, you bloody gremlin, give me a moment here."

###

Sure enough, Jack had been able to return to his original sniping position and had discovered the sorry mess the younger mercenary had gotten himself into. Indeed, he'd already been setting up to give some aid to his teammate before Kevin had even contacted him.

Unlike some of the other members of the team, who carried heavily modified versions of their primary weapons, the Sniper still carried around his stock rifle. It felt right to him, the mass, the weight distribution; every little thing about it was what he was used to and worked best with. As such, he'd not been too keen on modifying his tool of the trade. Eventually, he had relented and out of practically allowed for one additional feature, one that didn't change the overall feel of the weapon, but granted him great power with the right extra components in place and a flick of the button.

He'd had to find his camouflaged bag of extra supplies and put it all together, but it was ready. The standard round had been ejected and with the pieces all attached in the correct places, a single button press transformed his trusty rifle, expanding it outwards, fitting the new pieces in, creating a vastly larger and longer barrel. A savage smile on his face that perhaps the late Saxton Hale would have approved of, Jack loaded the anti-tank round.

Shifting the large weapon into position, the anti-tank rifle was ready. In truth, this weapon was more reliant on the extra components attached to it than his rifle, but something about having this huge weapon of destruction still controlled by his familiar trigger felt _right_ to the Sniper.

Still, it required some concentration and time to properly line up the shot, especially from this range. Looking at his scope, he tried to determine which target to take out. It was then that he noticed the tank that hadn't fired yet seemed to be getting bolder, starting to swivel its cannon into position. Scout had driven his pursuers all around the base's outdoors region and as such had actually been heading somewhat in Jack's direction earlier.

As such, the cannon was swivelling in such a fashion that in order to aim at the Scout it'd have to pass by the Sniper's line of sight first.

It was a risky shot, in was doubtful even he could pull it off but some instinct was screaming at him to do it. He couldn't do enough damage to the tank with his rounds to prevent it from firing with only one shot. Not unless he took this chance.

Sweat beaded down his forehead as he watched the cannon rotate through his scope, slowly, slowly...

He adjusted his aim and fired.

The anti-tank round screamed through the air, arcing and knocked by the winds, but somehow, incredibly, found it's mark and flew straight through the barrel, tearing it apart and impacting the shell about to be fired.

The explosion was significant.

"That good enough for ya, _mate_?"

###

Gabriel was somewhat taken aback. Firstly because the Scout had been stupid enough to get into this mess, secondly that he'd managed to procure a vehicle in the first place, thirdly that he'd decided to head straight for the Spy without dealing with the enemy first and finally that one of the tanks had just _exploded_ with no warning and just the Sniper's sarcastic question as an explanation.

As the sleek motorcycle skidded to halt by the Spy however, he was taken aback again.

"Quick, get in the sidecar!"

"...you want me to _what_!?"

The sound of an approaching SUV and the distant roar of the remaining tank's treads quickly forced the Frenchman to enter the sidecar and lower the canopy. He had to admit, whilst not his tastes, the main body of the motorcycle did have some style with its sleek reinforced design, even with the bullet holes in it. The sidecar however...well, it was embarrassing but the canopy did mean better protection and there appeared to be some sort of semi-rotatable turret gun installed.

Then again, this was Kevin driving and as such, he was probably going to die anyway.

Without another word, the bike screamed into motion, the acceleration pushing Gabriel back even as he grasped onto the turret and returned fire at the SUV. Whilst clearly not designed as anti-armour rounds, the turret did seem to be doing some damage to the light armour of the military vehicle, forcing them to back off for a moment. He didn't let up his fire though, continuing to rain down fire on them with surprisingly good aim, eventually tearing through one of the doors completely, exposing a sizeable hole.

Apparently this was what the Scout had been waiting for.

###

This was what Kevin had been waiting for.

Activating the turbo for the first time, a mighty roar echoed across the base as the wind rushed by with insane acceleration, allowing them to speed past the lighter recon vehicle. Despite his shock, Gabriel still managed to fire in roughly the right direction before they were past it again, the Scout gripping tightly as he power-slided around and shot back at the SUV, final grenade in one hand.

They were going too fast, the engine was starting to overheat and he had to cancel the turbo and ease off on the gas, but it was enough. Enough to speed up to the SUV before they could get any decent shots at them and just slow enough that the Scout was able to toss the grenade into the sizeable hole the Spy had made.

A somewhat gentler turn was made as they evaded machine gun fire from the inhabitants of the recon vehicle, Kevin not bothering to look back as the inside of SUV exploded, scattering chunks across the asphalt, some of which had the luck to strike the pursuing recon vehicle.

Another boom tore through the air as the Sniper launched his second anti-tank round into the remaining tank, punching it clean through the centre. Neither the recon vehicle nor the tank were down for the count, but that'd soon change.

They were still being pursued, the scrap had made some holes in the vehicle's side and their windscreen had broken, by they were still chasing them and seemed to very slowly be gaining on them. Perhaps temporarily overheating the engine a little bit hadn't been the best of ideas; he was having to be careful with the gas to avoid breaking it down altogether. Still, as the bike set a course directly for the tank, and Scout spammed some bullets behind him, an idea formed.

"Spy, got any smoke grenades left? Sniper, think you can bust apart the front of that tank?"

###

Another smile graced Jack's lips as he saw Kevin's plan. Both teammates replied in the affirmative and the Australian set about reloading and lining up the next shot. This was going to be good.

Sure enough, the tank was still trying to recover from the earlier shot and was in no state to do anything about the rapidly approaching vehicles. Spy continued to lay down suppressive fire to prevent the recon vehicle getting too close before finally opening the canopy whilst in motion and throwing a smoke grenade into the vehicle through the open windscreen. Having reached maximum speed, now dangerously close to the tank and blinded the results were only too clear.

The bike skidded out of the way of the tank and Scout risked applying full gas and turbo once more briefly just to get out of the way as Sniper's trigger finger itched. Not yet...not yet...

"Now!"

A deafening boom and the last anti-tank round was sent spiralling through the air. Time seemed to slow as Jack tracked the final collision of all three objects with his scope. In the very instant that the recon vehicle collided with the tank and started to crumple, the round penetrated through the front cross-section of the tank completely, the aftershock tearing the barrel off and ripping through tank and vehicle alike.

There was no dramatic incendiary explosion, but there didn't need to be, the destruction of both, the pieces in the air, the assured death of all within both vehicles...a perfectly executed plan designed by the _Scout_ of all people...

There were no other words for it, it was simply magnificent.

...what was slightly less magnificent however, was riding home on the back of that motorbike, supplies and rifle on his back, forced to hold onto Kevin for support whilst Gabriel bloody snickered away in his sidecar like the snake that he was. Many gay jokes were made and it was amazing the three mercenaries didn't crash at all from all the in-fighting going on whilst travelling down roads _far_ exceeding the speed limit.

The trip back home was **not** pleasant.

###

A single operation, an act of _revenge_ against the Administrator, an evening of the **odds**.

Three teammates, forever _squabbling_, bond over a **suicide** mission that by all logic should have **failed** _miserably_.

A new **hope** rides in the stolen materials and ruined structures of that _wrecked_ facility.

S_trikeback_ _operation _one out of three: **complete**.


	33. Operation: Quadruple Overload

**Author's notes: **_It's been over a year. By the gods, I'm sorry._ I've tried to write this chapter quite a few times, starting with a little something about 9 months ago that I ended up having to stop, shake my head at and delete. Whilst I've still been keen on this story, the matter of university, personal concerns (such as moving out into the wide open world) and a rather stubbornly non-responsive muse have kept this chapter MASSIVELY delayed.  
>I must confess that I'm still not happy with this chapter, a chunk of it was originally written a good few months ago and that felt a little off, but was still preferable to my original attempt, so I kept at it. It's a bit shorter than the other one, has some aspects to it I wish I handled better (genericness and weak character building) and due simply to time and rustiness I fear the style may be a bit off.<p>

Oh and in my haste to deploy, this hasn't been checked by a beta. Figured that even if this chapter is a bit subpar, better to have something rather than nothing after such a **long** wait, right?

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter 33: Operation Quadruple Overload<strong>_

Jane sailed through the air with the grace of an eagle, the roar of a lion and the power of a meteor crashing through the atmosphere. Blade held in one hand, rocket launcher in the other, the blue-clad man landed in a cloud of dust and blood, the Grey Soldier before him cleaved cleanly in two.  
>Turning to look behind him, the American smiled. Grigori wasn't even wasting bullets on these Grey bastards, sending Scouts and Spies flying with nothing but his balled fists. The giant of a man didn't seem to impressed by the resistance they'd met so far, and Jane was inclined to agree.<p>

Dell was casually leaning on his dispenser, the dual force of a level 3 and a mini-sentry driving off any foes who got too close to the Texan. Even Nils had stopped healing the band of four mercenaries, charge already at full, firing syringes in beautiful arcs of death that seemed to never miss. To call it a battle would be an insult to warriors everywhere, the enemy were naught but lambs up for the slaughter against the quartet that faced them.  
>Now that the shock of seeing identical clones of their comrades had worn off and they were attacked by them en-masse rather than one-on-one, the difference in their capabilities had become even more apparent. The Greys lacked the skill, the experience, the perseverance against all odds, the sheer fighting spirit and humanity that Team Fortress had in their grasp.<p>

Perhaps the sun was shining brightly above them, but here it was impossible to tell, the sky a soulless swirl of greys and blacks. The deep, dark smoke bellowed by the factory before them was joined by the lighter excretions caused by fires all around on the charred and cratered tarmac.  
>Bodies littered the ground, some were of their apparent clones, others were of guards, but all were unmoving and ignored. There was an eerie near-silence as the last of them fell, the only sounds being the crackle of fires caused by overenthusiastic Pyros and the ominous rumble of the facility ahead of them.<p>

A short break. The lighting of a cigar. The hum of a medigun focusing back on them once more.

Back to business. Large footsteps kicking debris. A toolbox hefted onto one shoulder.

And ahead, the factory's iron doors creaked open...

###

The mission was simple. TF Industries had a lot of large facilities belching out equipment, holding crucial resources and generally providing the Administrator with whatever she needed. Obviously, this couldn't continue, so the 4-man strike force consisting of the Soldier, Heavy, Medic and Engineer of the former-BLU team had located one of the most critical factories and set themselves to destroying it.  
>And if they'd happened to destroy a few lesser warehouses, research labs and other minor details on the way to this location? Well, that was all the better, wasn't it? Whatever defences they could put up, the Team could handle it.<p>

After all, what could they possibly throw at them that they'd not already stared down and won against? Countless bounty hunters, soldiers, robots imitating certain class features and even Grey-clad clones of the original mercenaries. They'd bested Saxton Hale, albeit with great difficulty and even without the rest of the team, could between them survive anything, perhaps even the ever-mysterious Gentleman.  
>Or at least...that's what they'd thought...<p>

###

From out of the shadows they came, in numbers too great to even consider counting. A threat that immediately threw flashbacks to an icy battle when on the edge of exhaustion, having fled for their lives. The machines had returned.  
>They swarmed out with the stomping of metal on tarmac, the whirring of wheels, the crunching of treaded tracks, the spluttering of a thousand motors billowing yet more smog into the deathly air around them. For all the variety between them, a million moving parts and wisps of gas around them made distinction an impossibility.<p>

But for all their menace...

"**ROBOTS**! Damnit men, let's give these _soup cans_ **HELL**!" A cry from the ever-shouting Soldier.

For all their numbers...

"Get behind me Doktor! Engineer, put sentry _here_!" The whirring of Sasha coming to life.

For all their weaponry...

"Ze charge is ready, **GO**!" An order from the Medic, standing close to the Russian.

They are but machines...

"I got ya backs!" Sentry down, wrangler at the ready, the Texan trains his laser on the horde.

...and machines are but the _playthings_ of **man**.

The Über is popped, the rockets are launched, the bullets scream as they fly, all in opposition of a monstrous storm of bullet and explosive and flame and steel. The team do not waver. They are no longer afraid, no longer facing the unknown, no longer fleeing, no longer weary. There are no distractions, no time limit, no obstructions: just a mob of enemies to crush on fairly flat terrain, all rushing with no coordination at the attackers.  
>With but four against thousands, there are injuries. There is pain. There are moments of narrow survival. But for each moment of vulnerability, there is at least one who can fight, who can protect, who can distract, who can heal.<p>

Scrap is flung to the skies, iron is crushed before their might, circuitry **frazzles** as it learns the all too human response of _fear_. Step by step, the team advance, bleeding, burning, shrapnel in their skin, smoke in their lungs, no even footing for their feet.

The machines fall as they did before. A breath of relief, of fresh air as the gases are blown slowly away. But alas, this was all as planned.

###

"Pardon me for the intrusion milady, but it would appear that one of our Class A facilities is under attack."

The Announcer frowns, grip tightening on the phone receiver in her hand. For once, there is no cigarette to be seen, but that seems as if it will soon change.

"Defensive capacity of the site?" Her words are as uncaring as always, no hint of reaction the news that the phonelines can transmit.

"In addition to our standard guards for any Class B or above location, we anticipated a possible strike from the rogue mercenaries and prepared several companies of Grey units to protect the area. Moreover, this _particular_ site has a surplus of the **failed** robotic army prototypes in storage, along with the capabilities to produce more swiftly."

A pause. The connection crackles with static and a gust of wind is heard.

"...I also have intelligence from the R&D department that states that one of their projects yet to be field-tested fully resides within. Would this be a suitable counter-measure to deploy?"

Another pause, this one filled with tension even the crackle of the phones cannot block.

"Tell me, William, is the full team there? And what is your present location?"

Her voice is icy and stings the ears. The telltale flick of a lighter is enough to determine that the exchange is about to end shortly.

"What few reports of the situation we've received from agents nearby estimate at most half the team and perhaps less than that. As for myself, I'm currently at our base situated in Badwater Basin."

"Deploy it and remain where you are."

With that the line goes dead and smoke once again spirals into the air lazily, carrying a stench of death along with it.

###

It came without warning, too large for even the huge entryway, smashing through the wall of brick and doors of iron like a cannonball through styrofoam. They coughed at the cloud of debris that had risen and only when the dust subsided did they look up and feel their jaws drop.

Rocks and twisted metal fell off it, the monstrosity unscratched, towering above them all. Four firm legs of sturdy construction ending in hydraulic claws supported its incredible mass, machine guns placed in rings up each leg. Eyes searching further up found a bulky body of highly reflective metal featuring numerous hatches, gatling guns and cannons.  
>There was no visible means of entry, nor were they any instruments that seemed to indicate how the machine or any possible drivers could detect the outside world. Nay, the creature of unknown alloys wielding incredible destructive might within its belly merely towered over them, unmoving.<p>

The clouds of smog above parted and cleared as the wind picked up, the slightest hint of light peeking through and pinging off the armour, bathing the area around the beast in a sparkling glow. Everything was still.  
>Until finally there was the sound of pistons, of engines, of whirrings and gears, it moved, segments of the body shifting to point turrets that dwarved the Heavy's minigun at the stunned quartet of killers. Behind it, the damaged factory started billowing out smoke once more, albeit at a reduced rate, the light gone from the battlefield once more.<p>

Without words everyone dived their separate ways as bullets approaching the size of their fists punched clean through where they'd been but a moment before. Some were swifter than others and not for the first time, Grigori paid the price for his large frame with a nigh-fatal sluggishness.  
>It was but a single bullet that flew by, barely grazing the large man's shoulder, but it seemed that was enough to cause the bear of a man great pain as he stumbled, his cry diverting the attention of the other three men.<p>

Ducking and weaving, Nils hurried to the Heavy Weapon Guy's side and the pair ran for shelter behind a particularly large pile of scrap metal. Cloud upon cloud of dust was kicked up, the smell of industry thick in the air as the guns finally slowed. Focus on his patient, a quick look to the wound showed that whilst it was healing fine under the power of the Medigun and the Russian was his regular stoic self now the initial shock had passed, it was less a minor scratch as it was a huge chunk of shoulder (bone and all) having been removed.  
>For a single glancing blow, that spoke volumes of the raw punch the weaponry they faced possessed and it didn't bode well. He hadn't had much time to glance at their new foe, but if that was the firepower it so causally turned against them, there was little hope that the armour could be damaged too easily by conventional means. If only they'd brought the Demoman with them...but alas, he was needed elsewhere. Speaking of elsewhere...<p>

Glancing about the battlefield, the German doctor could see his other comrades likewise crouching behind cover not too far away. That much was a relief, they seemed to have escaped unscathed. Jane formed a few quick hand gestures and stood to his full height once he noticed that the others had located him, drawing the immediate attention of the mechanical monstrosity that stood in their way. A few rockets was enough to draw more attention and fill the air with the oversized ammunition.  
>Dell used this distraction to toss a collapsed minisentry around his cover and dash over to the others. The tiny construction unfolded and with a beep that was lost amidst the gunfire, it fired on the only target in view. It was doubtful the "pings" the bullets made on that strange alloy were doing any good, but it was enough to allow the team to regroup. Grigori paid one last look to his mostly-replenished shoulder, merely nodded at his Medic with a firm grasp of his minigun and a harsh, cold look in his eyes before growling.<p>

"So, leetle enemies think this is how to outsmart us? With bullets?" A derisive snort. "I have plan for them."

If his teammates noticed the irony of his statement or found his unusually cold tone odd, nobody commented on it. There was only the barest of nods from them before they charged into the fray, taking advantage of the fact that their foe's guns seemed to overheat swiftly and the pilot (assuming the machine even had one) was a rather poor shot.  
>It was fortunate they moved when they did, as the final shots before every turret had spun down had actually been fired into the pile of scrap they'd been using as cover and punched clean holes through it, causing the pile to collapse partially. They'd gone their separate ways again, Nils swiftly topping the other two and continuing to pocket the Heavy.<p>

Their latest sight of the enemy robot had shown that it had advanced on their position and at worst showed a few scorch marks from the Soldier's rockets. It had clearly spent some time demolishing the Engineer's buildings and crushing the Grey robots underfoot too, not to mention some damage had been caused to the facility from which it had escaped. Perhaps the machine was rogue?  
>Either way, Dell's musings would have to wait, coming up with a solution to stop the damn thing was more pressing than the cause for its chaotic actions. There was no chance any of his weapons would even tickle it, if it were capable of being tickled and he had his doubts that even concentrated fire from a level three sentry would cause more than a dent unless he found a weak point.<p>

The Texan eyed up the enemy as best he could as he ran, mind racing even faster than his feet. It was true that Ewan or Gabriel, with their explosives and sappers respectively, would arguably be more useful in taking the mech down than himself, but they had their own tasks and he had no intention of letting his team down. The legs seemed fairly sturdy and resistant to attack, but if there was a way to even temporarily knock it down, being able to get a better vantage point on the top or force it to open some of the hatches it had may provide a means to attack.

Rummaging into one pocket, he withdrew his hand, a small box with a timer and strange grooves all along it in his palm. Bringing his now even-further modified Frontier Justice up to bear, he loaded the device into a small tube on the underside of the shotgun. It slid in gently, held perfectly in place as he took aim and pulled the secondary trigger.

He may not have had the concussive might to knock his foe down or be capable of sabotaging it at close range like two of his allies could, but damned if a man of his stature wasn't going to come to a facility they'd discovered to be producing their robotic doppelgangers without some home-made EMPs. A delighted grin lit his face as the bomb bounced off of one leg and slid to a halt between the forelegs. To think that they had yet to even be popular in science fiction and yet here he was, launching them at oversized machines with more firepower than sense.

The pulse of electromagnetic energy the time-bomb produced was enough to bring the robotic beast crashing down to the ground, but not before it had fired from its cannons, the spherical lumps flying in graceful arc after arc before their thunderous impacts into the asphalt below. The cannons were slow and less numerous, but each shot shook the earth twice: the first with each show and the second with each landing, debris and shrapnel from surface and scrap alike flung in all directions like deadly confetti.

The American rocketeer had ran on furthest ahead and whilst he was never close to the cannonballs themselves, his body took plenty of battering from the debris. If anyone could see his expression underneath his helmet they'd have seen no reaction to the shards of metal embedding in his skin or the ground shaking like the end of times. To someone who's reaction to a higher surface with no obvious ascension route was to fire explosives at his feet, such quakes and pain and shrapnel were nothing.

It hurt like hell and he almost stumbled, but his resolution remained true. The difference between these world-moving impacts and his rocket jumps was a large one, but that didn't change what had to be done. His foe was stock still, the now slanted roof much lower, yet still to high to climb. A few quick calculations, the only he had ever become good at as he judged distance, angle required, wind speed, the strength of his current launcher and the cannonball approaching him that threatened to squish him flatter than compressed paper.

Jane jumped, matching the parabolic arcs of the projectiles with one of his own design, his own grace and beauty. Narrowly flying past the incoming sphere, he ignored the explosion behind him of its landing, he ignored the Heavy-Medic pair below and to one side of him, and he ignored the Engineer setting up a wrangled sentry as a further distraction. There was only the arc, the act of loading another rocket in mid-air as flames flew behind him from his armoured boots.

One shot, then another and another and another into the roof before he landed with a gasp of pain. Unable to attack him directly, or so it seemed, the mech halted its barrage of cannonfire and instead moved as best it could with only its hind-legs to dislodge him. His rockets had created some dents into the otherwise smooth metal and the Soldier found himself grasping into the metal via those grooves as hard as he could to stay atop the mech.

Grigori was around to one side and Dell at the other, both concentrating fire onto the rear legs. It wasn't enough to knock those legs down or cause any noticeable damage, but it prevented the mech from moving as swiftly as it could have done. The AI or pilot clearly understood that this current tactic was working a little too well and thus it revealed its hidden surprise.

The shaking stopped. Jane got to his feet cautiously and investigated the rest of the mech he now found himself upon as his comrades paused to replenish their ammo and judge the situation. It was then that he noticed that while no turrets or cannons were installed on the top of the machine, it did have an over-abundance of hatches, far more than the few he had seen on its sides. With an incredibly loud whirring noise as they all opened and he had to jump to one side to avoid falling in, it became rather obvious to the American that staying on the roof was a poor decision.

A rather large array of missiles seemed very happy to see him and no complaints about igniting and launching into the air. Unable to remain stable on the platform, he was forced to dive off to one side, but not before firing a parting gift from his own launcher. It hit a cluster of missiles that were just lifting off into the air and caused a sizeable explosion that flung the Soldier even further into the air.

Unfortunately, while said act had likely destroyed a good few of the explosives and done more damage to the mech than anything else done so far, the various silos hadn't fired in unison and thus several groups of the projectiles from both the roof and the side hatches had escaped into the air. That he'd taken massive damage himself, his body limp as it sailed through the air, the only strength left being used not to drop his weapon, went without saying.

Suddenly faced with this change of situation, the remaining three members of the operation moved with swiftness and fury far more explosive than any detonation of chemical nature. Dell brought his wrangler up and around, shooting down missiles with pinpoint accuracy and a haste that couldn't be explained by reflexes and a laser pointer alone. One detonation, for all its distance, had a large enough shockwave that it threatened to blow him over, but he merely leaned into it, activating his back thrusters to overcome the push, and, when it subsided, launch him into the air, no change in his aiming this whole time as his sentry obliged to his directions.

A pause of firing for the briefest of moments was all it took to lift his Frontier Justice, another EMP pre-loaded, and fire, the bomb bouncing off the mech and rolling down into one of the open hatches on the ceiling before letting off the second pulse. The number of airborne missiles, already reduced from Jane's "gift", dramatically decreased further.

But it wasn't over.

###

Grigori had not the precision controls Dell had, but he had his gun, his beloved Sasha, and that was enough. With Nils at his side, the recoil meant nothing, the bullet spread meant nothing, the explosions were nothing. He fired, his gaze and his weapon as one: what threats he saw, he shot down, caring not where they landed. When the debris came dangerously closed, he didn't blink. When the shockwave washed over him he merely gritted his teeth and dug his feet firmly into the ground, not budging once. His allies had weakened this monster born of man's own hand and with his own hands he wound end it.

After all, he had a plan for this foe that fought with heavy weaponry and no finesse. He simply advanced closer and closer, showing almost no reaction when Nils left him, merely readying himself in both mind and body for what he was about to do, apologising to Sasha in advance.

Nils knew that it would take more than this to down any of them, but all the same the moment he saw Jane's body propelled into the air, his beam was drawn away from his Russian charge, his hands instead grasping a peculiar crossbow that could both heal and harm. The Soldier had been flung too swiftly and was too hard to focus on with the chaos around him and yet he still aimed and took the shot without pausing. The flight time was agonisingly slow, but the bolt found its mark in his falling patient's body, as did the next and the next.

By the time of the third shot, he knew he had no time for another and was already moving to intercept the body, his Medigun at the ready, the beam just barely latching on before impact. Beam feeding his charge with health, the German lifted the body over one shoulder and ran over to the Engineer's nest, placing his ally down by the Dispenser even as he focused his attentions to the burned half of the American's body and the crushed bones of his legs.

Already Jane was trying to stand up, eyes visible under his now askew helmet. The sentry clicking empty and the sight of the wounded man was enough to bring Dell back for a quick reunion that was interrupted by an almighty clattering. Eyes darted to their foe as it clambered back up onto all four legs, the initial damage of the EMP apparently undone.  
>The rockets were gone, its body was scorched black and dented and no longer gleamed. Smoke poured from the top and many hatches were unable to shut, their closing mechanisms damaged or the hatches themselves blown clean off. But the robot wasn't done yet.<p>

And neither was the one man standing directly in its warpath, not making any effort to move even as his own weapon spun down. Perhaps the mech was out of ammo or unable to fire due to damage, maybe the pilot wished to settle this more violently...either way, its pained advance made it clear that crushing was its only thought in mind.

The Russian stood his ground, cold eyes draining away and transforming into something else. He let go of the cold that reminded him of home, the frozen heart that had seen him through atrocities even before the war. The chill stare of winter became an ember, then a roaring fire and finally a true inferno of rage across the silent battlefield.

His feet had truly sought purchase into the ground below, carving their own mould into the wrecked asphalt as he braced himself. Already his team were running over to him, some idea of what he planned in mind, Nils at the lead with ammo in his arms as Jane and Dell were somewhat slower, the latter carrying the Dispenser fully-deployed between them.

"Tell me, robot. Do you think you can outsmart me? Do you think you can outsmart team? I once said that I had yet to mean a man that can outsmart bullet and you have taken that lesson to heart, **little** one. But that was then...and this is now! Fight me COWARD! _MY_ **GUN** CHEWS THROUGH THE _EARTH_ AND SPITS OUT **HELL**! MY** GUN **IS _**SASHA**_**!**"

With a roar that shook the air like the cannonballs had earlier, he fired, but not like he had ever fired before. He had been forced to use the one modification to Sasha he had allowed beyond the easier-ammo-feed mechanism, the one thing he had only agreed to upon seeing just how dire their situation was after they had first fled from Teufort. An alternative firing mechanism for emergencies only, one with such force and rate of fire that no mere man could handle, not even one of the Heavy's bulk.  
>A firing mode that could shake the average tank to pieces. A firing mode that he'd been advised to only use when Übercharged. A firing mode that even now, as Sasha spun into life, threatened to plunge the weapon out of his hands and through his chest. Staying truly steady was out of the question, sweat pooled down his face just to keep his gun in his grasp, the Medic already over and adding onto the bandoleer chains that had detached from the Russian's chest and now hung loosely from the minigun.<p>

The pain was without comparison and rattled his very bones as the first shots were fired, the large man moving backwards already despite his purchase in the ground. He felt it even through the soothing touch of the medigun, his body moved even as the Medic pressed up against his back with all his strength. The spread was perhaps even worse, the rapidly-shot ammunition careening wildly out of control even without his own shakiness, but at this close a range to such a large target, it didn't matter.

What felt like hundreds of shots passed in the blink of an eye and the advancement of the mech was halted under the heavy fire. Perhaps the storm it faced was weaker than that the robot's turrets had dealt earlier, but that mattered not in the face of the Russian's determination, now backed up by the rest of his team, the Dispenser placed by his side to refill his ammo automatically, Nils, Jane and Dell all at his back to share his burden.

It was deafening to all present and even with the addition of the other three pushing, still Grigori felt himself pushed back. It was some satisfaction to see the robot halt and have further dents appear in the metal, holes cleanly punched through other, already damaged areas. That satisfaction ended swiftly as one leg slowly raised up against the onslaught and came down with deliberate slowness. Their foe, for all the knockback, pressed onwards.

Sasha spat at that.

She spat faster and faster and more and more, the bullets becoming deformed before they even hit the target from sheer velocity and air resistance alone. His bones were breaking, his heart was racing, the Heavy could take no more and his Medic knew it. The charge was built, his finger was going for the switch, but with some form of inhuman effort, he was stopped by the Russian, his voice barely audible and distorted by the vibrations that were dislodging his teeth.

"No. Kritz, doktor, kritz."

Nils couldn't contain his surprise. Whilst he'd yet to recreate a level of power similar to his last new Medigun, he had at least been able to consolidate the Kritzkrieg and standard Medigun into one for this mission, allowing him a choice of either Über or indeed both, should he overcharge. While every ounce of common sense he had screamed against it as his own body was starting to give way, he trusted his teammate's judgement and instead activated the Kritz.

The rush of energy from a Kritzkrieg charge was quite different from an Übercharge, but in some ways the two were the same: even without the sense of invulnerability came a sense of energy, of power, of being unstoppable. And even if the healing itself wasn't particularly boosted, the sense of one's own wounds was still diminished and even the strongest of pains was washed by such a power trip.  
>Blue lightning sparked along Sasha and Heavy as the charge drained and the bullets that fired almost too fast for the dispenser to refill screamed through the air with even more force than before, burning trails behind them as they tore through metal with savagery becoming of a wolf upon the carcass of a deer. The mech finally halted under the ferocity of man and his weapon.<p>

But they were not alone. Fires roared from Dell's back and his muscles strained to push. Jane's legs snapped for not the first time that day but still he held firm. Nils was sweating and shaking but somehow clenched his teeth together to be still as he held onto his patient and medigun alike.  
>They were a team before this latest war, they'd be a team all the way through this last bloody one and they'd be close after it too. A charge meant for two spread to more and the ground itself cracked beneath them, hard concrete below the now scattered asphalt quivering under their feet.<p>

The robot fell forward once more, seemingly silent to their toneless ears, chunk after chunk finally giving way and slowly being peeled off. It slid ever so slightly and came but a footstep away from Grigori, who had stopped sliding back, but none of the men so much as blinked as Sasha continued to scream at the larger weapon of war.

###

There was something to be said of the spirit of man, as the minigun finally span down and the men collapsed into a heap, all breathing heavily with tears in their eyes, the machine before them as motionless as a corpse.

The single burning spirit of an individual, distinct and aflame with passion was one truly to be commended, regardless of the pursuits it went upon and the success or heartbreak it found. But by nature humans were creatures that relied on groups even as they hunt for their own desires and needs. As such, the strength and spirit of a group, well...

The four men struggling for air as healing beams washed over them, mending the broken bones and liquefied organs within them, those who had tore through their own clones in superior number and faced down yet another impossibly tough enemy...they knew of it. Of the togetherness, of the bond of blood between them, a bond that made them family, that made them more than just men in a world out to kill them.  
>It made them a team, a force of nature, a unified front against a very fragmented and selfish world. A burden one alone couldn't face was one that when shared, could be used to overcome any obstacle.<p>

To see that fact proven through them, the thought made real through sweat and tears in a heap like that...despite his allegiances, it warmed the heart of the one who looked on silently, wistfully staring at the group before glancing back at his pocket watch.

"You have all done remarkably well. I was right to keep an eye on you, even if it meant twisting the truth and disobeying my master. That was a sight to behold, truly..."

His quiet murmurings went unnoticed by the exhausted mercenaries. He briefly considered a quick spot of tea but decided against it. Rushing the drink would ruin the enjoyment and relaxation it would give, and he didn't trust the ashes and debris in the air, nor the smog.

"A pity. Ah well, I'd best be back to my position before I'm missed"

And with that final verbalisation to himself, the Gentleman vanished from the scene as suddenly and quietly as he'd originally arrived, part-way through the battle.

###

Elsewhere, Isaac sat alone at the base, completing his final preparations as Ashley and Ewan did a final check of the base's perimeter. While the rest of the team struck back at the Administrator, he wasn't about to let them ambush the weary troops or evict them from their latest home. No, he'd do no such thing.  
>Call it defending his home, protecting his territory, providing a distraction for the other operations, springing an enticing trap...whatever you called it, the ends where the same. The three of them would stand and fight. Their enemies knew they had teeth, it was high time they realised just how sharp they were when cornered.<p>

A grin, one that was mirrored by the pyromaniac and the demolitions expert on opposite sides of the base. "Let them come", they all thought in unison. If they're expecting us to roll over and submit when they bring in their armies, they've got another thing coming.

Team Fortress does NOT surrender. Team Fortress will not die quietly in the night. **Team** Fortress had showed them the first few steps of hell already and now it was time to give them the _grand tour_.

The other operations would succeed, the RED Engineer knew.  
>Their enemies would fall into their trap, thinking them weakened with so few at home, the Demoman mused internally with glee.<br>"The attackers shall be naught but ashes by the end", the Pyro spoke aloud, as muffled as ever.

_Naught but ashes..._

###

A second operation, an act of _destruction _against the insulting imitations of great men, a fight of **pain**.

Four teammates, a well-oiled _unit_, bond over their joint **weariness** at a war that dragged on for all **too long**.

A recurring **foe** watches unseen at their triumph over that _halted_ robotics facility.

_Strikeback operation_ two out of three: **complete.**


	34. Author Apologies & Chapter 34 Preview

**Author's Notes & Apology:**

Oh, where do I begin? To cut a long story short, a lot of Real Life (TM) has happened since the last chapter went up. A long run of illness, having to repeat a year of university, good ol' writer's block, family medical issues and the death of a close friend...well, I've simply not been in any state to write and the few times I have been able to...nothing good has come out.  
>And with my last chapter being kinda forced, pretty messy and not where I wanted it, I'd have liked to wait for a time I could maybe fix it up and then get cracking on the next. Needless to say, with everything that's come up, that got delayed and I'm not surprised by the queries as to whether this fic is dead or not.<p>

I cannot say if I'll be able to continue. While a lot of the ideas for this fic remain with me, I've not been able to write anything for any subject in a long time. But it is definitely my intention to continue if I can. So, while I cannot give you wonderful people who've been reading and reviewing even after this long a new chapter, I can give you this update and a little preview of the next chapter.

It's incredibly rough, unfinished and was done very recently during a short respite, but hopefully it's better than nothing. Here's hoping I can continue with this in the near future.

* * *

><p><em><strong>The Last Engineer – Chapter 34 PREVIEW: Operation Invincible Turtles<strong>_

Ewan scowled as he swept his gaze to the horizon, the smoke in the air preventing the sun's light from reaching this latest battlefield. He looks down at the empty bottle in his hand and sighs, throwing it to one side before walking away from the scene.

There'd been wave after wave of attackers but so far even with only himself, Ashley, and some automated defences protecting their new home, there'd been little challenge. The Administrator clearly was saving the best for last, but why?

The Demoman's sole eye narrowed, taking in the wreckage of the failed assaults, the acrid fumes, the countless bodies. Distractions to let their guard down, obstructions to limit their movement and their vision. Could they rely on the turrets to continue targeting if this worsened?

Before he could relay his thoughts to his teammates however, he felt something shift in the wind and threw himself to the side just in time to miss the mighty charge of a familiar figure.

Drawing his blade, the Scottish swordsman turned to face the Grey Demoknight, a ferocious smile gracing his lips. Took them long enough to send out the cheap imitations. They even gave the git a bottle of 1680 DeGroot's Rum hanging from his belt, a prize to be taken after his victory.

The Grey lunges forward in a heavy overhead blow that is sidestepped, Ewan's shield smashing upwards into the jaw of his mirror with enough force to break the clone's neck. That sharp crack is immediately followed by battlecries from around the corner heralding the rest of the wave.  
>Readying himself for the onslaught of bullets, explosives and suicidal melee rushes from his opponents, it seems contacting the others will have to wait...<p>

###

Surrounded by bodies, flaming wreckage everywhere, the sky dark and the air deadly...some might say Ashley was in their element. The conditions of this battlefield didn't seem to slow the gas-masked mercenary, who was fighting with a fiery fierceness that would have been chilling to behold had anyone been alive to witness it.

The Greys, faces so familiar, perished just as easily as the rest, with no hesitation. If anything, the Pyro was extra rigourous in ensuring that every last one of them was dead. Skulls were blasted apart with buckshot, bodies were airblasted off cliffs, weapons were melted into slag from afar by precious streams...  
>...and still the copies came. With no fear, they died by the droves. Occasionally through the haze one could see heads flying free from their bodies where Ashley assumed Ewan was. What did it matter how many of the enemy there was or how hard it was to see?<p>

The firebug was protecting their home. That was all that mattered.

Or at least, it was, until the dreadful drone of aircraft once again began to fill the air and the bombs dropped.

###

He didn't like being in here, deep in the inner sanctum of the base, but Isaac had no choice. As much as he'd rather be helping his team on the field, there was something vital he had to do to ensure their victory and all of his attention was focused solely upon completing that task as quickly as possible.  
>It was perhaps because of this single-minded focus that he missed some of the dire information the base's monitors was providing and it wasn't until his radio came to life that he was made aware of the outside world.<p>

"What are ya bloody doing!? The anti-air batteries ain't seeing the enemy bombers through the smoke!"

Blinking rapidly, now alert, the Engineer checked his status screens and saw that it was so: the essential guardians to prevent air support decimating their defensive efforts seemed to be malfunctioning. But that didn't seem right, with the technology TF Industries invested into this base (and the quick upgrades Dell and himself had done) no amount of smoke should have done more than mildly inconvenience the targeting systems.

The sounds of explosions over the radio and Ewan clearly in combat seemed to make something click with Isaac and he almost kicked himself for not thinking of it sooner. The Administrator was deploying clones of them...and who did he normally have to thank for his engineering woes?

Gritting his teeth, he turned his attention back to his work, uttering only a single word to the duo on the field, trusting them to take care of it:

"Spies."

###

Ashley and Ewan found each other as they ran through the battlefield, struggling to keep their pace with the first explosives being launched into the valley causing the ground to shake and yet more debris to be added to the chaotic scene. While their payloads were low, presumably launched from helicopters or fighter craft, as soon as the bombers flew overhead they would be forced to retreat underground unless they could bring the batteries back online.

It was too late for some of the structures. The pair skidded to a halt by the concealed entrance to Anti-Air 3. Well-fortified with its placement in the valley and so far undamaged externally, it was the most likely to escape notice from the air.  
>They shared a brief look, silently debating their options before nodding as Ewan entered the building and Ashley ran onwards to Anti-Air 1, the battery with the largest range and most firepower to its name.<p>

Turning to look behind him and promising to rejoin the Pyro as soon as he was able, Ewan hurriedly laid down a few remote detonation pipebombs to cover his flank before searching the structure for signs of enemy intrusion. It didn't take long.

Sappers were haphazardly placed on almost everything electronical with little rhyme or reason (and a few on objects that were not, like door handles). It was a simple matter to destroy the annoyances that were actually affecting the targeting system.  
>Crushing the last one under his boot, the Scotsman made note of the rebooting systems, the clear lack of spies and decided to get this over with the quick way.<p>

Making a big show of retrieving and opening the bottle of rum he'd acquired from his monochrome counterpart, he slowly raised the liquor to his mouth and shut his eye in anticipation of a good drink, muscles tensing unseen under his armour.

As predicted, several bodies materialised with a quiet shimmer, knives raised. In an instant the seemingly celebrating mercenary had whirled into motion, shattering the bottle on the nearest Spy, the shards tearing partially through the mask, drawing blood. The Grey assassin fell to the ground in agony, suit ruined and alcohol in his eyes.

The unfortunate Frenchman clone found his pain intensified as the Demoman slammed one boot onto the fallen man's chest, keeping him in place as he drew his sword to defend himself from the remaining foes.

The pen may be mightier than the sword, but the demolitions expert certainly proved that the sword was mightier than any number of knives, revolvers or fake Dead Ringer corpses the Spies could throw at him.

Cleaning the blood from his blade as the last one fell, he quickly double-checked for more trickery before observing the monitors. Seemed everything was more or less working again, the monitors were displaying the relative coordinates of some of the approaching craft but indicated that the actual targeting was still recalibrating itself.

Turning to leave and lend his support in the clearing out of the more vulnerable Anti-Air 1, Ewan was stopped short by a sudden alert. Swinging his head back, his eye widened in shock before he sprinted out of the building, putting some distance between himself and Anti-Air 3 before placing explosives by his feet and taking flight.

The alarms still blared across the base. The issue? A salvo of long-range air-to-surface missiles. The target? Anti-Air Battery 1.

###

The Spies had proven no problem to the pyromaniac, who'd exposed their cloaks and chased them with boundless energy. But the time of chasing and setting things alight was over. Currently Ashley was stood at the top of the anti-air battery, just below the might cannons, flamethrower aimed upwards, stance firm and ready.

Waiting.

Waiting for the attack that would destroy the recovering structure and leave the area at best only partially defended against the air. Battery 3 couldn't cover everywhere by itself.

They'd be forced to flee to the heart of the base and defend from there.

Waiting.

Waiting to die.

Waiting for their home to be lost.

For the rest of the team to come home to ruins and their corpses.

No.

The Pyro wouldn't allow it. They would not fail here, they'd buy time for Isaac and then they'd push the invaders out, striking them with such fear they'd never trespass again. Ashley had over the years become a master of deflecting projectiles and with the extra oomph of the upgraded compression blast, it should be fine, right?

Just like deflecting rockets from an airborne Soldier. Except the Soldier was too far away to see, fired much deadlier payloads, attacked faster and was also a plane. Maybe Ashley could convince Jane to rocket jump while wearing an airplane costume when this was all over? Doubtful.

As the destructive projectiles tear through the air, screaming death all the way, the lenses of a certain gas mask glint in the poor light. A black scottish cyclops rushes to his friend's aid, too late and unable to do much but watch as the smoke is broken apart by their velocity, a lone figure standing against them.

Facing death, the Pyro pulls the trigger.


End file.
